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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757322">he looks on tempests</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider'>iron_spider</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>BAMF Peter Parker, F/M, Gen, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 06:06:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>102,770</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23757322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider/pseuds/iron_spider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s crying now. Openly. It’s tearing him up, hearing it, hearing what the hell she’s saying. “<em>—they didn’t let him—they didn’t even let us get him a good lawyer, they locked everything out and he just had this—public defender that I’m sure was paid off. It was so orchestrated, Tony, the whole thing, and he’s—God, they sped it along over a month and they—convicted him—he’s in the Raft. They’ve got him in the Raft.”</em></p>
<p>She keeps talking, but he can’t hear it.</p>
<p>He can’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears. The way his bones creak. The way his face is contorting, his mouth dropping, his eyes straining with fear and pure, unadulterated rage.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) &amp; Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Ned Leeds &amp; Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Peter Parker Stories, Spider-Man Public Identity Reveal, irondad wips!!</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. and is never shaken</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I will be writing this as we go, so bear with me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Tony, it’s Peter. Wake up. Wake up.”</em>
</p>
<p>Tony Stark is in pieces.</p>
<p>He’s woken up hungover too many times in his life to be unfamiliar with the feeling, but this feels adjacent to that; in the same neighborhood, a couple houses down. It’s all darkness, dark and deep like he’s underwater, but he can still breathe, can still push through it. He doesn’t know if he’s drowning, if angry waves are trying to drag him down, but he floats and doesn’t fight it. He feels okay. He feels <em>good.</em></p>
<p>That’s so rare for him that he rests in it, for a moment. </p>
<p>There’s still only darkness when he opens his eyes, so he closes them again and waits. He’s always been an impatient man, eager to get from one thing to the next, anxious to have the people and things he wants and needs because he’s made up of those things, those people. He wouldn’t be anything without them. Blank. Unformed. Just some asshole in a tin can.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—and maybe he can feel me holding his hand—”</em>
</p>
<p>Tony narrows his eyes. Or he thinks he does. Who was that? Where did it come from? Where the fuck is he? That voice was familiar and it stirs him to move, to stop floating here like some disembodied jellyfish—</p>
<p>He moves and he drops, plummets down, and he can feel his body now, arms and legs writhing like he’s falling from the top of the Empire State Building, and Tony doesn’t know what’s happening—he doesn’t know where he is, what was the last thing—wait, everything’s moving too fast, what was the last thing that happened—</p>
<p>
  <em>Kid, hold me, hold me—</em><br/>
<em>Well, this is nice—Tony, it’s okay, it’s okay. I don’t know what’s—</em><br/>
<em>Peter, kid—it’s—Jesus, I can’t believe you’re back—</em>
</p>
<p>Tony tries to drag it back up, bad feelings and stormy memories. </p>
<p>There was fighting, a battlefield, a battlefield made of their fucking compound, their goddamn <em>home</em>, and there wasn’t enough time for a reunion with Peter but Tony wanted one anyway—this was for him, the whole thing, the risk, the heist, changing time and fucking space to get him back—</p>
<p>That photo. It stopped him dead. Innocent, framed by the kid years beforehand, sitting next to a picture of Tony’s own father in the kitchen. In the kitchen of the cabin he hid in, where he hid from the world, moldering, withering away, turning into something else. Afraid. </p>
<p>But he couldn’t hide from him. Couldn’t hide from long gone, dead Peter, silent and frozen and left behind.</p>
<p>Tony is full of guilt. His own personal jet fuel.</p>
<p>The falling stops and he lands, crumples on that scorched earth, right there at the end. The battlefield, what’s left of the compound. It’s dead quiet because there’s ash in the air and everybody knows what he did, and he sees himself, he sees—and then he remembers. </p>
<p>The people closest to him are the ones he loves most—he’s only missing his little girl, his Morgan, and Happy. Everyone else is standing there like they don’t know what to do, and he’s dying. He’s dying. He has to be. </p>
<p>“Jesus,” Tony breathes, approaching himself, and he sees the burns, the burns he doesn’t feel on his own body, now. He has to be dead, he has to be—the body in front of him is burned to a fucking crisp and now a different version of himself is waltzing around in the memory. Is this purgatory? Is he condemned to live his last minutes forever and ever? The people he loves sobbing in front of him? He doesn’t want that shit. He can’t deal with it.</p>
<p>“Stay with me,” Pepper says, close to his half-decayed body. “Okay, Tony? Carol went to get help. Stay with me. Please.”</p>
<p>“Hold on, Tony,” Rhodey says, hovering over him. “Hold on. We’ve got you.”</p>
<p>Tony barely remembers this. He remembers, but it’s lost in fog, stripped in despair, and he doesn’t want to look. But it’s like a goddamn car wreck, the end of his life, and he winces, something tight in his chest.</p>
<p>“Mr. Stark,” Peter sobs, in a desperate heap. “Tony. Please.” He’s clutching at Tony’s hands, and Tony watches, can almost feel it. He hates hearing them like this, hates knowing that this <em>happened</em>, it isn’t a nightmare or a vision that’ll dissolve when he opens his eyes. They’re aching for him and he feels broken, and he can’t help—he’s looking in on himself, just like he did when they were hopping through time. But this isn’t that. He can’t alter it. He can’t touch, he can’t comfort, he can’t grab his own hand and yank himself to his feet.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get up, moron. Get up. They need you.</em>
</p>
<p>He’s here to watch. Here to remember. Here to let the sadness seep into him twofold.</p>
<p>But fucking <em>why?</em> Where’s the real world? Where is he, really?</p>
<p>Tony sees his own eyes close, and the world shudders with darkness for a moment, like a glitch, and then everything stops. Paused. Everyone still. Tony walks closer to where his body is, but the arc reactor light is still on. If he was dead, it wouldn’t be. He knows that for goddamn sure, with all the protocols he put in place with the Mark 85.</p>
<p>He cracks his jaw and narrows his eyes, looking around. </p>
<p>“Alright. Let’s—whatever this is, I don’t wanna be here,” he says, unsure who he’s talking to. “Let’s pick something else, huh? Roll the tape back, I’ve got—if this is purgatory, I’ve got plenty of shitty memories to choose from—”</p>
<p>He takes one step to the right, and he’s somewhere else.</p>
<p>And immediately, he feels calm.</p>
<p>Like a massage. Like floating on a cloud. Like that bed he had in Malibu before the Mandarin destroyed his fucking house. He’s drunk without the headache, without the guilt or shame, just the lightness and happiness, and the second he starts to question <em>why</em> he feels like the thoughts are pushed from his head by some unseen force. </p>
<p>He’s fine. He’s fine? He’s <em>great</em>. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.</p>
<p>He’s in a house on the beach, and he can hear the waves, gentle and closely. He can see the sand through the glass-sliding door, mostly smooth with a few footprints here and there. The sky is bright, pristine blue, just like the water.</p>
<p>He’s sitting on the carpet in the living room, and he peers up at the loft. This place is big and spanning and warm and welcoming and Tony sighs, content. </p>
<p>What was he doing before? Shit. Where was he? He can’t remember.</p>
<p>“Alright,” Peter’s voice says. Tony looks up and sees him come out of one of the upstairs bedrooms, Morgan trailing after him, wearing a flower crown. Peter is holding something, and smiling wide.</p>
<p>“Pete,” Tony says, starting to get up. </p>
<p>“Don’t get up, daddy!” Morgan says, skipping.</p>
<p>“Why?” Tony calls. “What are you hiding? No hiding, munchkin.”</p>
<p>“We’re not <em>hiding</em>,” Morgan laughs.</p>
<p>“We’re gonna do it right there,” Peter says, rushing down the stairs. “I found the Corgi one with a thousand pieces—”</p>
<p>“The one where they’re in the meadow?” Tony asks, and he narrows his eyes at himself. The what? How does he know what they’re talking about? Did he really just say the word ‘meadow’ out loud? Where is he? What’s—</p>
<p>They’re here. The kids, his kids, and Tony is enamored, again. They both approach him and Morgan puts down a piece of cardboard that’s big enough for the puzzle, and they sit down on either side of him. Peter crosses his legs and Morgan sinks her toes into the carpet.</p>
<p>“Yup,” Morgan says. “I wanna dump it out.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Peter says. “Go for it. Make a mess.”</p>
<p>Tony stares at him. He was all bloodied up last time he saw him<em>—when was that?—</em> but he’s fine, now. He’s here, now. He’s safe, he looks—he looks happy, and he and Morgan are interacting like they know each other. Like they’re family. Like the kind of thing Tony always imagined, secretly, throughout those five years. The kind of thing he didn’t say out loud because it hurt too much. </p>
<p>They’re here. They’re both here. </p>
<p>Here?</p>
<p>“Where are we?” Tony asks, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. </p>
<p>They both look at him then, and they laugh, shaking their heads at each other. Like they deal with his shit all the time and they’re used to it by now.</p>
<p>“We’re home,” Peter says, looking at him incredulously. Morgan dumps out all the pieces, and shakes the bag until she’s sure it’s empty.</p>
<p>Pepper, Rhodey and Happy appear out of nowhere by the front door, as if they came through it, but Tony didn’t hear it or them come in. But now they’re here and they’re all talking and laughing and carrying groceries, and he feels filled with something he can’t describe.</p>
<p>His brain has questions, but something tamps them down.</p>
<p>“You guys are just now starting on the puzzle?” Pepper laughs, but there’s no accusation or judgment in her voice. The bags rustle on their arms as they head around the corner, into the kitchen.</p>
<p>How does Tony know where the kitchen is?</p>
<p>It’s home, it’s home, of course he knows.</p>
<p>
  <em>Where the fuck—</em>
</p>
<p>“Laser tag must have gone long,” Rhodey says, putting a few of the groceries on the dining room table before following the other two. “We know how competitive these three are when they get together.”</p>
<p>“There’s no comparing me and them,” Tony says, without thinking about it. Peter and Morgan both laugh again, and Peter keeps sorting out the end pieces of the puzzle. Tony watches, clears his throat. He feels like he’s inside someone else’s life, but it’s—it’s his life, right? Isn’t this what he wants? Isn’t this what he has? He lives here, right? </p>
<p>“Did you get the sugar cookies?” he asks, glancing up to see where the others went.</p>
<p>Was he expecting sugar cookies? Why is he asking about sugar cookies? Shouldn’t he be thinking about—</p>
<p>“Of course,” Happy says, peeking his head back out. “Rhodey wanted to get the sugarless sugar cookies—”</p>
<p>Pepper starts laughing, and Tony scoffs, listening to Rhodey’s denials.</p>
<p>“I did not, I did <em>not—</em>”</p>
<p>“We’re making the burgers,” Pepper calls, talking over him. “So get—”</p>
<p>The whole place buzzes, goes dark in heavy strips.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—just keep talking to him, honey—”</em><br/>
<em>“—and I miss when you’re silly—”</em><br/>
<em>“—and in other news, Tony Stark is still—”</em><br/>
<em>“—race car, Tones. It was such a mess, and I shoulda—”</em><br/>
<em>“—Spider-Man, without you. Everybody asks me, even the criminals—”</em><br/>
<em>“—I don’t know what to do, while you’re like this. I don’t know how to be normal—”</em>
</p>
<p>Then he’s back, and he’s scrambling to his feet. Peter and Morgan aren’t sitting there with him anymore, and the puzzle is about a quarter of the way done. He can see the corgi’s feet, can see the red flowers on the top right corner. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and the kids are all sitting at the table now. The burgers are done, and they’re staring over at him like he’s crazy. </p>
<p>It was only a moment, but everything is different. Time—moved, without him. An hour or more, in a moment. </p>
<p>The voices, they—they sounded—</p>
<p>“You coming, Tones?” Rhodey asks. “Peter’s gonna steal all the ketchup.”</p>
<p>“I am <em>not</em>,” Peter insists.</p>
<p>“Everything okay, babe?” Pepper asks.</p>
<p>Tony stares at them. Are they acting strange? What the fuck is going on, where is he, who was talking, whose voices—</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, the thoughts fading fast. “Yeah, yeah.” He walks carefully around the puzzle and moves into the dining room, taking his seat at the head of the table. There’s a cheeseburger in front of him, with broccoli, sweet potato fries, and asparagus. A glass of lemonade. </p>
<p>“This looks great, Pep,” Tony says, as the rest of them start eating. “What are we, uh—are we celebrating something? Something going on? Anniversary, birthday—did I forget my birthday?” It’s his favorite meal. They’ve even got the habanero mustard on the table.</p>
<p>Pepper shakes her head. “No reason,” she says. </p>
<p>“Tony,” Peter says, his mouth full. “May said she’s gonna come stay for a week on Friday. So that’s good.”</p>
<p>“That’s great, bud,” Tony says, grabbing a fry. “What about work?”</p>
<p>Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says.</p>
<p>Tony’s about to ask <em>what about school, for you</em> but the question dies before it reaches his lips.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>There are more questions. The daylight goes on longer than he thinks it should, and they go to the beach and swim and lay out in the sun and make sand castles. There are more dark moments, which always result in little time jumps, even though they only seem like seconds to him. He keeps hearing the voices, but it’s like something is trying to wrench them from him, trying to erase their existence, their echo, like he was never meant to hear them at all.</p>
<p>He can’t question it for long. Something doesn’t let him.</p>
<p>
  <em>Wait, wait—</em>
</p>
<p>Question what?</p>
<p>“Pep,” Tony says, when they’re in bed that night. He curls up behind her, and wraps his arm around her. She grabs his hand and settles back against him.</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>He feels his brain fighting with itself. He tries hard to get the question out. “When did we get this house?” he whispers. “When—how long have we lived here?”</p>
<p>She scoffs and squeezes his hand. “Crazy,” she says. “Don’t mess with me.”</p>
<p>Tony scoffs back. “I’m asking.”</p>
<p>“You’re not drunk,” Pepper says. “Don’t act like you’re drunk.” His brain malfunctions trying to fucking process this. But then she glances over her shoulder at him. “We’ve always lived here.”</p>
<p>“Right,” he says, that strange feeling of calm falling over him again. Right, of course. What else was he expecting?</p>
<p>He lays there after she falls asleep and tries to remember what he was doing before the moment on the carpet. Before Peter and Morgan came down the stairs with the puzzle. He was definitely doing something. He’s almost always doing something. </p>
<p>He knows—</p>
<p>His head burns and he squints, fighting against it. What the fuck?</p>
<p>He knows there’s something wrong. Something—off.</p>
<p>“Shit,” he breathes, shifting away from Pepper and facing the wall. He closes his eyes and tries to remember. Peter, Pepper, Rhodey—what was—<em>what the hell was going on—</em></p>
<p>“Concentrate,” he whispers to himself. “C’mon, Stark, c’mon.” </p>
<p>He closes his eyes tight, and digs past the roadblocks in his head. Burns. No, no, the beach. <em>No.</em> A battlefield. No, no, puzzles and pizza and burgers. Safe. <em>No.</em> Crying. Eyes closing. Ending—</p>
<p>What the fuck?</p>
<p>He covers his face with his hands. “C’mon,” he says again. “Snap out of it.”</p>
<p>It’s like there’s a rushing in his ears, and something pressing on him, crushing him. A truck, or an airplane hangar, or an atom bomb. But then—surround sound.</p>
<p>
  <em>“But you said there’s been more brain activity today?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Yes. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s close to waking up. We’re gonna monitor it and see if it continues and then we’ll go from there.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Go where? Go where from there?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Pepper, we just have to take this day by day. This isn’t a regular coma, and it’s not anything we have examples for. He’s the first person, the first—human being to do what he did. And the last. The only. We’re lucky he’s—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Fine. Fine. Alright. Peter, Morgan, I think you two help, come back over here.”</em>
</p>
<p>Tony can hear more than just talking. He can hear shifting, footsteps, beeping, background conversation. It’s blaring, all of it. Surround sound. He can hear Pepper rubbing his hand, but he can’t feel it. He keeps listening, but it’s dawning on him. He knows.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Tell him about the trip, Petey.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I don’t know, Mo, I don’t even know if I want to—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s okay, just—talk to him. When he told me about you, he told me he always liked to hear you talk.”</em>
</p>
<p>Peter laughs.</p>
<p>
  <em>“You can tell him, sweetheart. He wants you to relax, no matter what. Especially after everything, he’d want you to...do something fun.”</em>
</p>
<p>Tony can hear Pepper talking to the doctor in the background. Peter and Morgan are close. He can hear them both breathing.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Just this school trip, Tony. It’s coming up, to Europe. I know. May’s encouraging it and Pepper has been nice enough to fund it for me, but I just—I don’t want to leave you while you’re like this. I want—we need you to wake up, Tony. It’s been—”</em>
</p>
<p>He’s—he’s in a fucking coma. </p>
<p>Holy <em>fuck</em> he’s in a coma.</p>
<p>That’s what’s happening. He’s not just in a deep sleep, he’s in a fucking coma. Jesus, Jesus. He’s been in a coma for <em>how long—</em></p>
<p>“Honey,” Pepper’s voice says, from behind him. She grips his shoulder and kisses his cheek. “You slept like a log.”</p>
<p>For a moment, Tony knows. He knows everything. What happened to him. Where the fuck he is, where the fuck he’s not, just what he’s leaving on the other side. He knows this isn’t right, he knows this is some fucked up fantasy concoction his brain has conjured up, and yeah, they’re safe here. He feels awesome here, he feels content and loved and at peace, but it isn’t real. As much as he wants it to be, it isn’t. He’s gotta wake up. He’s gotta do it for them. </p>
<p>The <em>real</em> them.</p>
<p>“Pepper,” Tony says, twisting around in bed. He looks at her—she’s so beautiful. His brain is really trying to fuck him up, and he tries to focus. “Pep. There’s—this isn’t real. This, all this? My brain. My comatose brain making up stories, pulling—pulling together all the things I want, all the things I like best. Keeping me here, you know, keeping me in this low level state so I’ll wanna stay inactive—”</p>
<p>Pepper shakes her head, and leans closer, cupping his cheek. “Babe, it’s a Sunday. Maybe, <em>maybe</em> if it was a Tuesday, I’d entertain this—”</p>
<p>Everything changes. He’s on the beach. He’s wearing a fucking tank top. Peter and Morgan are in the water, and Morgan is on Peter’s shoulders, wielding a small shovel. Happy is a couple feet away from them, gathering up buckets full of water and hurling it their way. Peter holds tight to Morgan’s knees, barking instructions at her as he uses his legs to fight back against Happy.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Rhodey asks, from beside Tony. </p>
<p>Tony stares at Happy and the kids. The sun is shining on them and he’s not sweating and the sand is warm under his legs. He can’t remember the last time he went to the beach. What was he thinking about? What was he thinking about, before? He sighs, sinking down deeper and letting the sand run over his calves.</p>
<p>“Where’s Pepper?” he asks. He closes his eyes and turns his face up to the sun, digging his feet further into the sand. He smiles to himself, his whole body relaxing.</p>
<p>“She’s heading back from the house with the cooler,” Rhodey says. “Keeping us in apple juice and iced tea.”</p>
<p>Tony nods. His head is like a kaleidoscope of good memories, inviting, soothing—drinks with Happy on the balcony, meeting Pepper for her initial interview. The first time he did a Hitchcock marathon with Peter. Nights when the team was actually a team. Morgan’s first word and how much she laughed after. And Rhodey—</p>
<p>“This reminds me of the night of my eighteenth birthday,” Tony laughs, looking over at him. “When you—”</p>
<p>“You think I don’t remember?” Rhodey asks, raising his eyebrows. “You think I forgot that? Really? All that and the emotional scarring? The goddamn cone and the sand in your ass crack? Please.”</p>
<p>Tony snorts. “Well. You’re getting old, pal, I don’t know what the hell’s happening in that head of yours.”</p>
<p>“Close your eyes and sunbathe before I beat you,” Rhodey says. He lays all the way down on his towel and puts his hat over his face.</p>
<p>Tony laughs again and leans back a bit. He feels like something soft is covering him. Is it stifling—no, it’s calming—it is <em>stopping, it is hindering</em>—no, no. This is good. This is right.</p>
<p>“You deserve this,” Rhodey says, reaching over and patting Tony on the shoulder. “After all the shit you’ve done for the world, you deserve it, Tony. Hanging up the iron mantle, retiring—it’s good. You deserve it.”</p>
<p>Tony narrows his eyes. </p>
<p>Iron mantle. He just saw—what the hell is his last memory? What’s the last thing he remembers doing, before the puzzle? Before cheeseburger dinner? When was he last Iron Man? What—Peter was gone—<em>Peter was gone for five years</em>—they all were, the world was in ruins, and Thanos, and Tony made his own gauntlet, and he—and he <em>had to—</em></p>
<p>Peter yells, and there’s a splash and Tony’s mind disconnects, for a moment. Brief.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—I’m gonna call every day, so you can hear my voice, and I’ll get you souvenirs everywhere I go, even though I’m sure you’ve got plenty of your own souvenirs from when you went to Venice—the second and the third and the fourth time—”</em>
</p>
<p>Peter claps his hands. “She’s gonna drown him. She’s gonna drown her Uncle Happy.”</p>
<p>Glitch. Quick strips of darkness, and then they fade.</p>
<p>Tony is sitting in a beach chair now. The sun is setting and it’s brilliant across the horizon, pinks bleeding into purples and stars already prickling across the sky. He stares, briefly deterred. </p>
<p>He’s been afraid of a lot in his life, and usually the fear is surrounded by losing the ones he loves. But they’re here with him. He sees them all. Peter’s beside him, Rhodey, Pepper and Morgan are in the water. Happy is opening a bottle of champagne, a few steps away from a big-ass sand castle. The cork pops and flies, and it gets Peter’s attention.</p>
<p>“You can’t drink,” Tony says, before he can think about anything else. He points over at him and raises his eyebrows.</p>
<p>Peter scoffs. He’s in a beach chair too, and his hair is still wet. “May lets me have one on special occasions.”</p>
<p>“And what special occasion is this?” Tony asks. He’s holding a roast beef sandwich in his free hand, and he takes a bite of it.</p>
<p>Where did he get it? Where—what the hell—</p>
<p>The sun. The sunset. His family. The breeze is so nice out here.</p>
<p>“Every day is a special occasion with you, Tony,” Peter says, half sing-song, and Tony rolls his eyes, smacking him in the arm. </p>
<p>He stares at Peter and he remembers. The kid was bloody and beaten and sobbing, clutching at his hands. Tony could barely move. Burned, trying to breathe. <em>Mr. Stark. Tony, please.</em> He was—he had just—</p>
<p>It changes.</p>
<p>They’re in another room in the house. Like a mini-theater, like the one Tony had built in the compound after the Vulture incident. This one is similar but smaller, with plush red chairs in rows of three. He’s in the front row, his feet propped on the footrest. Morgan is in his lap, sleeping, holding a small bag of popcorn in a vice grip. Peter is next to him, and Pepper is on his right, sleeping too. She leans on his shoulder, like they’re on a date, and it reminds him of how much he wishes he knew her in high school. He wishes he’d spent his whole life with her.</p>
<p>He twists his neck and glances over his shoulder. Happy and Rhodey are there, and May is right next to Happy. She waves at him, and then looks stern and points at the screen, like he’s in class and not paying attention.</p>
<p>When the hell did she get here? Has it been—days, since—</p>
<p>Tony feels like he’s being rocketed through time. There’s a war in his head and both sides are filled with fire power, and he’s like a set of those little Russian dolls within dolls, inside himself a million times over. Smaller and smaller and smaller.</p>
<p>He’s got no idea what the fuck is going on. But he sits here, anyway. </p>
<p>He looks at Peter. “What are we watching?”</p>
<p>Peter balks at the question. “You picked it. I don’t know. You said you wanted to show me another really old movie. Oscar winner. Uh…”</p>
<p>Tony stares at the screen. It’s Jack Nicholson, it’s—everyone’s wearing the same outfit, it’s—oh, they’re in an insane asylum. <em>One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.</em></p>
<p>That’s how he feels. Right now. Something’s wrong, and he knows, but what the hell- what is it, he knows, it’s—right on the tip of his tongue—</p>
<p>“Why would I show this to you?” Tony asks, glancing at Peter again. “It’s sad.”</p>
<p>“It’s sad?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows. “It’s been pretty funny so far.”</p>
<p>Tony stares at him. He can’t lock on, he can’t think straight, and all the memories are eluding him. He just has feelings clouding his eyes, and he blows out a breath. “I miss you, kid,” he says, voice cracking. Miss? Present tense? He said it without thinking but his brain splits like jagged lightning. How do you miss someone when they’re right next to you?</p>
<p>“Tony,” Peter says, smiling. “I’m right here.”</p>
<p>The world buzzes like a machine, and he skates through multiple moments like he’s skipping through time. Hopscotch. </p>
<p>In the living room with Morgan and Peter, talking about the time when he saved the passengers on Air Force One. Walking down the beach, hand in hand with Pepper, in the middle of saying the word <em>basement</em>. Half asleep, kissing her shoulder. Arguing with Happy over the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Sitting in front of the computer with Peter, playing a game about a whale. At the store with Rhodey and May, searching for Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Counting to three and going under the water with Morgan. He doesn’t see anyone else but them, other bodies but no faces, like they’re blurred out. </p>
<p>He’s in his bed again when it stops, and he can hear the waves. </p>
<p>Relaxing? Yes, but is this what he wants? Is this what he chose? Is this what <em>they</em> want? Peter is not one to sit by and do nothing. Peter is a hero and Peter has a job to do, whether Tony wants to bench him or not. So why is he here? What the fuck is this?</p>
<p>Tony covers his face with his hands, his legs twisted up in the sheets. “What’s going on?” he whispers to himself. “Jesus Christ.” He doesn’t even have Friday here. He brings Friday everywhere. It’s like he’s missing a limb, without Friday. </p>
<p>There is no outside world. There’s this house, the town surrounding it. No news, no current events. Just—this. This.</p>
<p>What is this?</p>
<p>
  <em>“—and Morgan says it, every day. How long it’s been. Today it’s—six months, two weeks, four days. She says it to Peter on the phone like a mantra. I don’t even know if he’s enjoying his time in Europe, Tony, he seems nervous, distracted—I don’t know if it hurts him to talk to you like this, without you answering. God, babe, please. Please come back, I need—”</em>
</p>
<p>Wait, wait, wait wait—</p>
<p>Six months six months six monthsssixmonthssixmonths<em>sixmonthsSIXMONTHS—</em></p>
<p>Coma. Coma. That’s it. That’s it, he knew that, he knew that, he’s in a fucking coma. Shit, shit, he’s stuck in a coma and it’s been <em>six months</em> and his head is painting this picture, this pretty picture, to distract him, to—</p>
<p>Glitch.</p>
<p>He opens his eyes and he’s sitting at the dinner table. They’re all looking at him. May is here again, this time, shoved in next to Peter and Morgan, and they’re eating pasta, forks and knives poised. </p>
<p>Fettuccine Alfredo, he loves—</p>
<p>No, no, hold on, hold on to it—</p>
<p>Tony pinches his hand as he gets to his feet. “I gotta—”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong, Tones?” Rhodey asks. “You need something?” He’s got sand in his hair, like they’ve been at the beach again.</p>
<p>“The salt is right here, honey,” Pepper says. She shoves it towards him.</p>
<p>“No, I’m…” Tony trails off, because something is trying to rip the information from him, and if he gets distracted, it’ll win. He’ll lose it. “I’m fine. A-okay. Dandy. All good, all good, gimme...just gimme a second, here…” He pats Peter’s shoulder as he goes by, messes up Morgan’s hair, and doesn’t look at any of their faces. If he looks at their faces, he’s fucking lost.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know where to go, so he winds up in the closet in his bedroom. He pushes past flannels and band tees and Pepper’s florals and winds up in the back corner, huddling up on the ground among shoeboxes.</p>
<p>“Alright, c’mon,” Tony whispers. He covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “C’mon, six fucking months, gimme all of it. Jesus. Jesus, I’m just laying there somewhere. My fucking head trying to give me what I want. I want them, I want the real them, that’s it, no fucking fake shit. C’mon. I know they’ve been talking. I know they have. Gimme all of it, I wanna hear it from the beginning.”</p>
<p>His heart aches and he tries to think. Snap, snap, he snapped, he was—dying, but he didn’t, he didn’t die, he’s in a coma, and they, they must have gotten him somewhere—somewhere safe, somewhere he could—</p>
<p>He thinks, he thinks hard, tries to dig it all out, tries to rewind to right after the moment he closed his eyes on the battlefield, draw the memories forward—</p>
<p>
  <em>“—be careful, boys, please—”</em><br/>
<em>“He’s still in there, Tony, stay with us—”</em><br/>
<em>“Tony, it’s me, it’s Peter, hold on, okay? Please—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Helen, Helen, what are we thinking? What are—”</em><br/>
<em>“He’s coding, we’ve got to—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—stable, but the coma is—”</em><br/>
<em>“Are you serious? No answers—”</em><br/>
<em>“We’re lucky he’s alive—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—it’s been one week, and Mommy’s been reading the bedtime stories to me but it’s not the same—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Tony, we’re here, we’re not going anywhere—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—you were such a wreck back then, but you’re my wreck—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I drew this for you daddy, in your favorite colors, red and gold—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—I’m watching them, I’m keeping them safe, just like you wanted—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—three months, two weeks, one day, I miss you, I miss you—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Baby, it’s been too long—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—don’t worry, it was just an ATM robbery, it’s fine, I only got knocked around a little bit—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You should go on the trip, Peter, I promise he’d want you to—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Tony, I miss you—I’m just—I’m so sorry and I’m just—thank you for saving me—you’re always—you’re always saving me—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“When—when is he gonna—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—four months, one week, three days—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—please don’t talk about it around him—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Come back. Come back.”</em>
</p>
<p>Everything buzzes. Shaking him up, moving him around like a chess piece. Again, and again, and again. Briefer moments before. The beach, the living room, the movie room, store, sleep, awake, sleep, awake. They’re all there and they’re them on the surface but they’re not <em>them, and he’s in a coma, he’s in a coma, he’s been in one for fucking six months and counting—</em></p>
<p>His brain goes through another round of fighting back, trying to knock him down, make him complacent, because it <em>likes the coma</em>, he’s dealt with so much shit, and he doesn’t blame it, he doesn’t blame the inclination or the want or the need, but this shit isn’t real, it’s not real, it’s not <em>him, it’s not them—</em></p>
<p>He’s brushing Morgan’s hair—</p>
<p>
  <em>“—this can’t be happening—”</em>
</p>
<p>He’s running down the beach.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—Tony, please, we really—we need you right now—”</em>
</p>
<p>He’s floating in the water.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—they can’t possibly think Peter actually—”</em>
</p>
<p>He’s next to Peter in the kitchen, and both of them are making sandwiches. He shakes his head and feels dizzy, half of him working on overdrive to just—make. Him. Stay.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you work on your webshooters?” Tony asks. “You’re—I know you’re Spider-Man, kid, I don’t want you wasting your time with me and whatever the hell is going on here, I know you’ve got shit to do.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Peter says, simply. “We’re relaxing.”</p>
<p>Tony eyes him and he tries to focus, tries to stay on task, even though his brain is saying <em>relax, relax, eat a sandwich and relax. Relax and forget</em>. He pinches his arm again.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—don’t talk about it in front of him, it’s gonna be fine, we’re taking—”</em>
</p>
<p>“Kid,” Tony says, as gently as he can. He stops working on his own sandwich, and vaguely wonders if their real life counterparts can hear what he says to them in here. Bullshit. No way. He’s going insane. But at least he’s focusing. He keeps pinching his arm. “Peter, I—I want you to have fun on your school trip. I don’t want you to worry about me.”</p>
<p>Peter narrows his eyes and spreads mayo across the piece of wheat bread. “School trip?”</p>
<p>Tony sighs. Of course this Peter doesn’t know. This Peter is inside his goddamn head. Whatever funhouse bullshit he’s created here. He sighs, hanging his head, and pinches his arm again. Focus, focus. Don’t let go. </p>
<p>Seeing Peter here, interacting with him—it’s hard not to fall into it. He knows, right now, he remembers, he is acutely aware of the fact that the kid was gone for five years. Five years. And this feels so fucking real, but it’s not. It’s not. His Peter is out there, somewhere. On the other side.</p>
<p>Coma. Coma. <em>Remember the coma.</em></p>
<p>“Just—with whatever you’re doing, I don’t want you to worry about me,” Tony says. “I want you to have fun. Do kid stuff. Not be—dealing with the Iron Invalid at all times, you know? You get me?”</p>
<p>“You’re not an invalid,” Peter says, putting mustard on his sandwich next.</p>
<p>Tony stops pinching himself and steps forward. He touches Peter’s shoulder. “Pete—”</p>
<p>A buzz. Glitch.</p>
<p>And after that, it seems almost never ending. Like no moment is his to keep, no moment is his to live in, whether this is his boring vacation dreamland or not. Cutting, in and out, half words, barely a moment to look around. So many moments flash by that it’s like a fucking lifetime taking place around him, and he’s just a passenger, flitting in and out. He can’t feel time passing, but he knows it is. In here and out there, too. Languishing. Coma.</p>
<p>The voices from the outside break in, sometimes. </p>
<p>
  <em>“—don’t talk about that around him—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—gotta do something—”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“—he won’t be happy—”</em>
</p>
<p>How long has it been, since he’s heard Peter’s voice out there? Has he heard him, lately? He can’t remember. He can’t remember. Everything mixes together.</p>
<p>The rushing stops, and Tony is standing in the sand, the water splashing over his feet. The sunset is beautiful and it gets him, for a moment. It gets him.</p>
<p>“You remember that time at the compound when I was playing monopoly with you and Pepper and Happy and I won and you got really mad?” Peter says. “You said it was because I played as the thimble and the thimble is lucky.”</p>
<p>Tony scoffs, and glances at him. The kid is staring off at the sunset, too.</p>
<p>
  <em>“—that can’t happen, they can’t take him there, they can’t, it won’t get to that point—”</em>
</p>
<p>Tony blinks back to sanity, with that. The voices set him straight, and he doesn’t even need to pinch his arm until it throbs. </p>
<p>“I need help, bud,” he says. His throat hurts and he has a bad feeling, like something sinister looming behind his eyes. The voices blend together, sometimes, and he can’t tell who is saying what. But everything he’s been hearing lately is making him nervous. Nobody sounds good, and that can’t just be about his useless wretch of a body, lying there useless. Something is going on.</p>
<p>He needs to...try and wake up. He needs to try and force it.</p>
<p>“With what?” Peter asks.</p>
<p>What does he even want? How the fuck does he ask him this? Every time he tries to talk to any of these fake versions of his family about what’s actually going on, they try to sidetrack him, or act like they don’t know what he’s talking about. They don’t, really. Or do they? They’re part of his head, and he knows.</p>
<p>Tony hates this shit. He sighs, and turns towards Peter. He takes him by the shoulders and tries to imagine this is his kid, his real Peter. “Do you trust me?” Tony asks.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Peter says, without hesitation. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>There’s no way to say it. This shit will skip ahead, it’ll move on, pass time if he starts talking about wanting to get out—it might even do it if he thinks about it too hard. He cracks his jaw and he’s not even sure what the hell he needs to do. What would do it? The darkness helps isolate the voices, sometimes. </p>
<p>Maybe he needs the opposite.</p>
<p>What would direct sunlight do, if he really focused? Light at the end of the tunnel, all that? Shit. He doesn’t have any better ideas. He’s just gotta move towards the right light. The light that means opening his eyes. And not—the other light. The roof, higher up, he’s trapped in his own head so the maybe roof would bring him closer to the exit—Jesus, there’s no way it works that way, but it’s his only idea. His only idea right now. The only thing that seems like it could be right. So he’s gotta cross it off.</p>
<p>“Tomorrow,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Tomorrow, I wanna lay out on the roof. Just. You know. For fun.”</p>
<p>Peter narrows his eyes and looks up at the roof. “Uh. Okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says, ruffling his hair and trying not to get too attached.</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s not him. It’s not him.</em>
</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He sits in the closet that night and tries to shift his focus to pulling himself out of this, but nothing changes, nothing is different. He just hears Pepper talking to him. He hears the hospital noises. The beat of her heart.</p>
<p>
  <em>“We need you, Tony. I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna upset you, but—God, just—wake up, please—”</em>
</p>
<p>Glitch.</p>
<p>He’s on the roof with the kid. </p>
<p>“So we’re doing yoga?” Peter asks, laying a towel down for both of them. </p>
<p>“Yes,” Tony says, sitting down, fast. “Sorta. Kinda. The Stark version.” He lays all the way down and the sun beats red hot. He knows he’s got all the time in the world but he feels rushed, because he knows something is happening. He doesn’t know what it is, but something is happening.</p>
<p>“Alright, Pete,” Tony whispers, talking to the Peter here, the Peter out there. Himself, too. He closes his eyes and hones in on the red-orange hue. “Just relax. Relax.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if this is the right thing, at all, even slightly. But it’s all upside down. Everything. He’s fucking <em>trapped</em> and he’ll build himself a beach fire SOS if that’s what needs to be done. He’ll try everything.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Peter says. “Concentrate. Let it all fade out. Just...calm…”</p>
<p>The way he says it makes Tony think of May, and it’s probably something May has said and done with him before in the past. The heat seems to seep into Tony’s skin and his veins and he lets everything fade to a muffled hum. No birds tweeting, no people yelling down the beach. No cars honking. </p>
<p>He thinks about his real life. Real life. Lying in the bed in a med bay. Where do they have him? What facility? What does he look like?</p>
<p>He hears—heels clicking on a tile floor. </p>
<p>Beeping.</p>
<p>It’s like he’s in a tunnel—</p>
<p>Is this fucking working?</p>
<p>He can feel—air conditioning—</p>
<p>Then it’s like something is pushing against him—rushing waters, a tornado, lightning and thunder trying to drag him under—</p>
<p>A door opening and closing. </p>
<p>The sun feels like it’s boiling him, like an egg could fry on his forehead. His own breathing comes in slow motion, everything hurdling towards a screeching, careening halt, seconds sliced by seconds sliced by seconds—</p>
<p>It’s fighting him—trying—trying to knock him back down, trying to push him back down to earth and under it—weights and piles and tons and tons on top of him, shoving him down, down—</p>
<p>He’s gotta climb out—it’s working, it is, his stupid fucking dumbass idea is actually working, but he’s too weak, he’s not strong enough—</p>
<p>
  <em>“His eyelids are moving, is that—”</em>
</p>
<p>“Hey!” Pepper’s voice says. “What are you two doing up there?”</p>
<p>It knocks him right out of it. He groans, covering his face, and he doesn’t usually sweat here despite the many beach trips, but he’s drenched in sweat now.</p>
<p>“We’re just doing yoga!” Peter yells.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Tony tries. And tries. And tries and tries and tries and tries. Time keeps skipping but he makes his way up to the roof with Peter as many times as he can manage. Sometimes he has Peter distract the others so they don’t interrupt. Sometimes he just has the kid come up with him and tell him a story they both know, some memory they share. Tony always picks him because he knows the others will question him—that’s just in their personalities, to try and warn him away from doing crazy shit, but Peter is king of crazy shit and doesn’t really know what’s going on, anyways. And Tony would never bring his six year old daughter up here, fake coma world or not.</p>
<p>Fact is, he wants to see Peter. He’s overcome the forgetting hump, mostly, and he can remember the shit they went through. How long the kid was gone. Dead. Despite what’s going on here, getting a glimpse of him hasn’t yet lost its luster. Because Tony knows he’s alive out there. He saw him, he held him, he knows. There’s a real version of this fake life in his future, if he plays his cards right. Done the proper fucking way. He can see Peter and Morgan together for real. </p>
<p>And he’s gotta wake up. He’s gotta keep trying to wake himself up, and Peter is good inspiration.</p>
<p>But it’s like trying to push a jet carrier down the street. He knows the coma is deep and nearly impenetrable. He wonders if it’ll start shaking things up, to get him to stop trying to escape. But he’ll keep trying until it does.</p>
<p>And he can differentiate the voices better now, in the sunlight and in the darkness. And he hears everyone, knows who is speaking to him, begging him to wake up—and he doesn’t hear Peter anymore. He knows now. He remembers, and he’s sure of it. He went on the trip, and he was calling, and then—it stopped.</p>
<p>Tony hasn’t heard him in...God knows how long.</p>
<p>This is his own fucking personal hell, that’s what it is. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. He’s so tired and his body knows it, his mind knows it, and it just wants him to give up. Give in. But knowing his real family is out there, waiting on him—he can’t waver. He can’t just fuck off and cuddle up on the couch. He wants to rip this place apart. If he ever gets out of here, if he ever comes back to life again, he’ll never have a house on the beach. Absolutely fucking not. Cabin in the mountains, all the way. The proper fucking way.</p>
<p>“Okay, I’m bringing up the cheese and crackers this time,” Peter says, grabbing the box and the tub of cheese. He’s got the towels hanging over his shoulders, and he’s been bringing sunscreen the last couple times.</p>
<p>Tony stares at him. He feels fucking sick, and he knows there’s something wrong out there, something wrong with the kid. He hasn’t heard him. He hasn’t heard him. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says, voice breaking. “Let’s go, cheeseball.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Buzz. Glitch. Crack. Snap.</p>
<p>Sand in his toes. Crumbs on the roof. Too much sunscreen. Indiana Jones, Star Wars. May in and out. Happy arguing with Rhodey about hot dogs. Cheeseburgers cheeseburgers cheeseburgers.</p>
<p>The sunlight works but his strength doesn’t. When did he lose it? Did he ever have it to begin with? Is it the same shit his father always instilled in him—that he’d never be enough? He isn’t even enough to save himself, and that’s half the reason why he’s here at all. He snapped, got rid of the bad guys, and got rid of himself right along with them. How appropriate. What a goddamn Stark thing to do.</p>
<p>He pulls himself out of bed and waits, for a second, for time to start skipping again. He wonders how the hell long it’s been in here, and worse yet, how that translates to real time out in the real fucking world. </p>
<p>When nothing happens, Tony reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, gently padding out of the room. He looks at Pepper before he goes, the way she breathes in her sleep. His brain sure has her right, and it should, considering all the times he’s just sat and stared at her. </p>
<p>He shakes his head and pinches his arm again. He walks out into the living room, and sees Peter and Morgan are both out there, sleeping in a pile of pillows on the couch. Morgan is in Peter’s lap, her arms fixed around his neck, and he’s holding her tight, like he’s worried something is gonna happen.</p>
<p>Tony stares, for a moment, his bottom lip trembling. He pinches his arm harder, and heads outside. </p>
<p>He feels listless. Broken.</p>
<p>He makes his way up to the roof like he normally does. The sun is rising, golden with weak new light painted across the ocean. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He feels safer up here with Peter, for some reason, but he knows that’s stupid. </p>
<p>He sits down in his normal spot and drops his head into his hands. </p>
<p>“What the fuck?” he whispers. He grips his hair and pulls. “I need a goddamn break.”</p>
<p>What has he not covered? What has he not thought about?</p>
<p>What has he been avoiding thinking about?</p>
<p>He sighs, and his mind opens that door again easy as anything. Like the part of him that feels like he still deserves pain for the things he’s done, and the things he hasn’t. The things he couldn’t.</p>
<p>Tony is on the roof and on the compound battlefield at the same time. He can feel the sun and hear the crying, the three of them gathered around him, and everyone else staying back, almost holding their breath. He watches his own eyes close like it’s happening in slow motion.</p>
<p>And then...silence.</p>
<p>Like both of his ears have popped. He looks around, the beach transposed on top of the carnage, and everything is still and completely devoid of sound. “What the fuck—”</p>
<p>He can feel Pepper’s hand holding his own. He looks down at his hand and of course, he’s alone here, no one touching him, but he can feel her fingers curving through his own. </p>
<p>“<em>Tony</em>,” her voice says, everywhere, running all through him. He can tell she’s crying. He can tell there’s something wrong. The same thing that has been, and it’s reached its peak. “<em>Tony, there’s—I’ve been avoiding them mentioning this to you, I’ve been—I’ve been afraid it would make your condition...deteriorate...but after what’s...after what’s uh...Tony, we’ve been fighting for him, I promise, we’ve been doing everything we can do, but they’re—there are so many people throwing up roadblocks…</em>”</p>
<p>He hears her take a few wavering breaths. He’s shaking, his throat tight.</p>
<p>“<em>There was—there were multiple incidents in Europe, Fury had recruited Peter to help with these—events, and they were working with this hero called Mysterio, but he’s not a hero, Tony—he was Quentin Beck, this man that worked for us years ago, he was part of the BARF team, the one that wanted to weaponize it, the one that was blackmailing his teammates—well, Tony, he’s—he set Peter up, somehow. We think he—we think he did it to—to hurt you. Hurting Peter to hurt you</em>.”</p>
<p>The world seems to shift. Tony’s head feels heavy, splitting.</p>
<p>“<em>He outed Peter as Spider-Man. Everybody knows. The events were created by drones, our drones and his, and he—he attributed all that to Peter. He’s covered all his bases, locked us out from finding his real identity in the system, and from so many more things, and he—he created carnage with these fake monsters and the drones and got people killed and he—he faked his own death, well, we don’t know if he’s actually dead or not, but he’s nowhere to be found—and that—all that was blamed on Peter. Peter, they’re—they’re saying he’s a murderer. Fury knows the truth, Hill knows, but they’re considering them biased, considering us biased, and Tony—God, they fast-tracked the trial—”</em></p>
<p>Tony feels dizzy. He feels fucking sick. Trial, trial? What the fuck, what the fuck is all this, what the fuck is going on—</p>
<p>She’s crying now. Openly. It’s tearing him up, hearing it, hearing what the hell she’s saying. “<em>—they didn’t let him—they didn’t even let us get him a good lawyer, they locked everything out and he just had this—public defender that I’m sure was paid off. It was so orchestrated, Tony, the whole thing, and he’s—God, they sped it along over a month and they—convicted him—he’s in the Raft. They’ve got him in the Raft.”</em></p>
<p>She keeps talking, but he can’t hear it.</p>
<p>He can’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears. The way his bones creak. The way his face is contorting, his mouth dropping, his eyes straining with fear and pure, unadulterated rage.</p>
<p>He stumbles back, and the world cracks as he tries to breathe, tries to think, digging his fingernails into his palms and he can taste metal, taste blood, and he can’t, he can’t, he can’t—</p>
<p>“Oh fuck,” he breathes. “No, no. No, no.”</p>
<p>His heart—his heart hammers, skips beats, it rumbles in his ears and frozen waves run through his body, up and down his spine. The wind picks up and whips around him and he knew there was something wrong, he knew it, he could feel it in his bones but he never would have found his way to <em>this</em>. He hasn’t heard Peter’s voice and this is why, this is why, because they took him, because <em>Beck, fucking Quentin Beck</em> did this, framed him—</p>
<p>—to hurt Tony. </p>
<p>Tony never wanted to show the world who he loves, because they’re always threatened, always, they’re targeted and tortured and taken from him, and now Beck has done that to Peter. Now Beck has done that, and whoever the hell is helping him, because all the roadblocks, all the problems, all the lock-outs have to mean he’s got higher-up’s behind him—</p>
<p>Tony sways. They all know Peter is Spider-Man. All that effort to keep him hidden, and now they know, and now he’s in danger.</p>
<p>Tony remembers everything now, everything that’s been stalling him in here, all the skips through time and every second, every single second after he snapped.</p>
<p>The snap.</p>
<p>It felt like this. But now the energy is coming from within him, fueled by his pain, his love, his fury. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, his tears red hot and streaking down his face, and Peter can’t be in the Raft. He cannot be there. Not with who they’ve put away. Not with who could hurt him.</p>
<p>Peter is not a murderer. Peter could never be a murderer. Never. Never. The world can’t think that. The world can’t fucking think that. Tony won’t allow it. He won’t.</p>
<p>Tony is stronger than all of it, now. Now that he knows what’s at stake. </p>
<p>His doubts aren’t shackling him anymore because he’s burning, because he’s on fire, because he’s a nuclear explosion, and the world slowly starts to chip away around him like shingles in a hurricane. The sea goes black and the sand turns to ash and the roof caves in and Tony drops to his knees, closing his eyes against it.</p>
<p>It rages, too. It wants him to stay, it wants him to rest, it wants him to give up. He’s put himself through so much for so long, so fucking much, enough for six lifetimes, and the heaviness of his old misdeeds falls down on his head. All his attempts at good fall down too, and they smolder and strike and try to choke him. </p>
<p>
  <em>Rest now. Rest now. Be done. Be finished. </em>
</p>
<p>But he can’t. He fucking can’t. He’s under the ground, he’s buried, he’s stifled by cement, crushed and broken and bones. </p>
<p>But he fights. He claws his way out, because he knows now, what’s happening on the other side. And it’s bigger than him. It’s bigger and more important, because Peter is back and Peter is good and Peter doesn’t deserve this. </p>
<p>The fake life has tendrils around Tony’s throat. </p>
<p>But he moves towards the light. The light of opening his eyes. Because Peter needs him.</p>
<p>“I’m coming, kid,” Tony says, through gritted teeth, tons and tons weighing down, toxic air all around him. Darkness. “I’m coming.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He wakes up with just as much anger as he was holding inside his mind, but now he feels just how fucked up his body actually is. His head feels ten times the size it’s supposed to be, and everything is off kilter. His vision is blurry and he blinks at all the moving shapes surrounding him, his hearing slowly tuning back in from the deep, cavernous sound that encompassed him before. </p>
<p>Beeping, beeping, his own heart broadcast for all to hear. Doctors in white coats, machines on all sides, and from the ceiling tiles it looks like the facility they had built in Poughkeepsie. </p>
<p>There are auras in his left eye and he sees that his right arm is in some kind of healing pod, and he can barely feel it when he tries to move it. Everyone is rushing around him and touching him and checking charts and panels and screens and his brain doesn’t have the capacity to do anything but be severely <em>pissed</em> right now, and he tries to seek out a familiar face. </p>
<p>He sees Pepper standing back by the wall, behind the mess of doctors. Tony reaches up and tugs at his nose cannula, pulling it right out and tossing it aside.</p>
<p>He <em>aches.</em></p>
<p>“Mr. Stark, you need to leave that—”</p>
<p>“Pepper,” Tony rasps, trying to push himself up. His anger is buzzing through him like an electrical current, and his skin feels paper-thin. “Pep.”</p>
<p>“Tony,” she says. She shoulders one of the doctors out of the way and moves back to his side, and he wonders how the fuck long it took him to claw his way out of his cave, if they were taken aback by it, if he shouldn’t have been able to do it in the first place.</p>
<p>But he’s here now, because he has to be, because there’s a fucking problem that needs solving. No matter how fucked up he is. </p>
<p>“God, Tony, what is—” Pepper cuts herself off and leans in closer to him, reaching out to put one gentle hand on his shoulder, the other holding his hand again. He’s still moving, anxious, but everyone is all over him, trying to keep him down. That shit isn’t gonna fly for long, and he tries to keep his focus on her before he explodes. “How is this happening?” she whispers. “They said you weren’t even close to—”</p>
<p>“I heard you,” he says, voice low. “I heard what you told me, about the kid.” The facts burn in new daylight, just like him and his angry embers. He can see it in her eyes. It wasn’t a trick. That shit is real. “Peter’s in the Raft?” Tony asks, knowing. “Peter’s in the goddamn <em>Raft</em>?”</p>
<p>She nods, solemnly, and it sits there like a looming monolith, impossible and real all at once. </p>
<p>He sets his jaw, his anger only getting bigger, only blooming like blood strokes. “Then I’m getting him out,” he says.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. new protocol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony feels like he’s half outside himself, half being tugged back into his own head. There’s a tiredness clinging to him that he’s never quite felt before, an entropy in his body and his head that makes him feel trapped, splintered. Everything is too loud and there are too many people around him, too many doctors trying to keep him down, and he feels every inch of the coma, every inch of lying in the same fucking spot for six months. Has it been longer, since he heard that number? Feels like eight years. An eternity. Were they not working out his limbs? Trying to maintain his circulation? What kind of goddamn doctors are these?</p><p>His anger flares and sparks with every movement. It feels like more than him, screaming through his bones and his veins. It’s infecting his head, hazy red buzzing in his eyes like a swarm of bees.</p><p>“I’m getting up,” he croaks, ripping out every fucking thing they’ve got connected to him with his free hand, setting off alarms and beeping, blaring in his ears. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows, but he does it anyway, driven and determined despite the logical voice screaming somewhere in the back of his mind. He tries to move his arm in the healing pod and it feels like it’s underwater, feels like it’s not really part of him anymore, and the pod shifts and morphs to cling to his arm, forming around it to work with his movements.</p><p>“Tony,” Pepper says, still trying to stay close to him despite all the doctors running around like chickens with their heads cut off.</p><p>“Pepper,” he says, the word a life preserver. </p><p>“Mr. Stark, we need—”</p><p>“Mr. Stark, you can’t—”</p><p>“Don’t Mr. Stark me,” Tony hisses. </p><p>His own name reminds him of Peter. Reminds him of the early days when they made the kid an intern as a cover story for why he was around so often, and he’d trail after him chirping <em>Mr. Stark Mr. Stark Mr. Stark.</em> Took forever to get him to call him Tony. </p><p>Thinking of him hurts, and Tony’s blood boils. His anger is reaching new heights, and he feels like it’s just gonna keep climbing into the stratosphere. <em>Rage.</em> A gun that’s out of control.</p><p>“Mr. Stark, I’m sorry, but—”</p><p>“Mr. Stark, I—you can’t—”</p><p>He’s close to blowing up at them and he just grabs onto Pepper’s hand, gripping tight as he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. He feels something else connected to his fucking neck and he reaches back and rips it out, causing two of the screens on his right side to go black. </p><p>“Tony, Tony, what are you—Tony, you need to—” </p><p>“Help me, please,” he says, through gritted teeth. Only her, he doesn’t want the others touching him.</p><p>Pepper stutters and shakes her head and doesn’t seem to know what the hell she wants to say to him, but she holds onto his hand and wraps her arm around his middle as he gets up.</p><p><em>Gets up</em> is putting it nicely.</p><p>He drops almost immediately, his legs like two wet noodles that he’s got no control over, and Pepper catches him before he can collapse on the floor. She can barely right him and he can’t get his footing, pinpricks cascading through his legs, and it’s agony, the worst fucking sleeping limb situation he’s ever experienced. The doctors are still swarming, one of them taking hold of his right arm around the healing pod, and Tony flares up again.</p><p>“Everybody that isn’t Pepper needs to get the fuck out of here right now,” Tony yells, voice going gravelly when he yells, still trying to fucking stand. “I don’t give a shit what you think about all this. I’m awake, I’m pissed off, we’ll call you back if a heart attack comes on.”</p><p>They all quiet down but the one still holds onto him, and the others all stand around, staring. </p><p>“Get out!” Tony yells. “Get the fuck out of here!”</p><p>They scramble, then, all muttering to each other as they file out, and Tony grits his teeth, trying to get his feet under him. He feels like a fucking puppet, someone else holding the strings, and he groans to himself, holding onto Pepper.</p><p>“Tony, what are you wanting to do here—”</p><p>“Stand up,” he says, managing to plant one foot. “I need to stand up.”</p><p>“You just—you just woke up. They weren’t expecting you to—wake up right now, or any time soon. You just woke up, Tony, you can’t just—you can’t just believe you’re gonna be able to—start walking, start—behaving normally, or doing—whatever you’re thinking about doing—whatever it is, you—Tony, you can’t—”</p><p>He plants both feet down and he’s already fucking sweating just from doing this, and his head is swimming, hazy and unsure. His arm seems to pulse in the healing pod and it doesn’t feel like an arm, it feels like a useless piece of meat. He tries to straighten up and his back cracks painfully. He feels older than he is, a walking fucking corpse.</p><p>But he has to focus. His anger is moving him forward, the terror in his veins like strands of lightning, because Peter’s in the Raft. He’s in the Raft.</p><p>“I have to,” Tony says to her. He leans on her hard and they take one step away from the bed, away from the screeching machines. “I have to—God, Pep, why couldn’t any of you take care of this?” His eyes start to burn with tears, and he’s still half hunched over and having a hard time looking at her. “Why couldn’t you protect him from this?”</p><p>“Tony,” she says. “It has been an absolute mess—”</p><p>The door slams open again and Rhodey strides in, panic in his eyes. “Jesus Christ, what the hell—”</p><p>“Rhodey,” Pepper says, in a rush of breath, before Tony can say anything. “He just—”</p><p>Rhodey gets to Tony’s side and supports him, making it a little easier for him to walk. </p><p>“She told me,” Tony says, cutting her off. “Where Peter is, what happened while I was sleeping, the monumental goddamn failure that occurred while I wasn’t around to prevent it—”</p><p>“Alright, alright, where the fuck are you going right now?” Rhodey says, still leading him in the direction he was pointed towards. “What do you think you’re gonna accomplish here?”</p><p>“I gotta get him out,” Tony says, his throat tight with emotion. “I gotta get him out, I gotta fix this, he can’t—he can’t fucking be in there, he was railroaded, he didn’t fucking do this—”</p><p>“God, he really was listening,” Rhodey says, to Pepper.</p><p>“No shit,” Tony spits out, trying to take two more speedy steps, too speedy, and his knees go weak. They have to heave him up a little bit more and he groans. He’s gotta get better real quick. He has to get stronger. “You should have told me sooner what the hell was going on with him—I gotta get him, I gotta—”</p><p>“Okay,” Rhodey says, close to his ear. “Okay, you’re not gonna make a fucking jailbreak right now—”</p><p>“I have to,” Tony says, taking two more steps towards the door. </p><p>“Stop, stop,” Rhodey says, trying to tug on him. “Pep—okay, let’s catch him up, let’s give him the rundown—”</p><p>“Yes, okay,” Pepper says.</p><p>Tony doesn’t give a shit about the rundown, he doesn’t care what’s going on. He knows the basics, he heard what she said, and he wants to blast the fuck out of here <em>now</em>. </p><p>But a wave of dizziness takes hold of him and he sways in their arms. He knows what it feels like and he knows what it looks like, and he wishes he wasn’t displaying his weakness so openly when he has such intentions to go get Peter. His anger reminds him, over and over in bitter jolts, that they didn’t help Peter. These people, who Tony loves so much. These people, who Peter trusts and respects. They left him to languish—</p><p>—Tony feels even weaker, thinking of them like this. But what the fuck? What the <em>fuck happened?</em></p><p>“Okay, Tones, back into the bed—”</p><p>“Not back into the fucking bed,” Tony manages, streaks of color flashing across his eyes. “No. No. I got out of the bed for a reason. I don’t want to be in the bed.” He fights against the haze and straightens up again. He launches himself away from them and grabs onto the corner of the wall, the healing pod making strange movements around his right arm. It looks like a fucking alien. </p><p>“Tony, Tony—”</p><p>“Take me somewhere else and tell me whatever you want to tell me,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment, leaning his forehead on the wall. He doesn’t care, and he knows seeing the reality of it is gonna rip him in half and exacerbate all the feelings in his head, the ones he doesn’t wanna have, blackening bruises at the forefront of his mind. “I don’t care where it is. Not here. I’ve been here long enough.”</p><p>“Fine,” Pepper says, from behind him. “Living quarters, Rhodey?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “And what about a wheelch—”</p><p>“No wheelchair,” Tony says. “No.” He needs to walk. He needs to build himself up. He doesn’t have much time.</p><p>~</p><p>They essentially have to move mountains to get him from one place to the next, but after a while he’s able to get his feet underneath him more solidly, and he can actually walk. They seem to take him a back way that doesn’t intersect with too many people, and even though he had this facility built, he doesn’t exactly remember the layout. He feels like he’s been dropped in some fucking alternate reality where he doesn’t fit and he doesn’t know anything anymore.</p><p>Snap. Snap. Eyes closed. </p><p>Should he have died, then?</p><p>No. He doesn’t wallow in self-pity. Because Peter needs him. If Peter was fine, then maybe Tony could entertain all those sad sack thoughts. But Peter isn’t fine, so Tony has to stick around and fix this shit.</p><p>“Jesus Christ, you guys weren’t fucking with me,” Happy says, standing in the room they lead Tony into. </p><p>Tony wants to be happy to see him. Wants to be happy to see all of them. His heart yearns. But he’s in a bubble of discontent, and he keeps hearing Pepper’s words over and over again. <em>He’s in the Raft. He’s in the Raft. He’s in the Raft</em>. </p><p>He’s going insane. He doesn’t want to be insane. He feels like he’s hurdling off a cliff and he’s not himself and he can’t stop. He can’t stop, he can’t change, as much as he may want to. He can feel himself being irrational and crazy but he can’t latch onto his own shoulder and pull himself back. The logical voice is snuffed out.</p><p>“Happy,” Tony says, curt, as they lead him over to a couch. He sees one of Friday’s holo-screens is pulled up, and he sits down in a heap in front of it. Rhodey is about to say something, but Tony cuts him off. “Show me,” he says. “Show me what happened in London. The coverage, all that.”</p><p>“Tony,” Rhodey says, taking a quick look at Pepper. There’s a lot of worry in their eyes, Happy’s too, and it makes Tony falter, for just a second. But he looks away, because he can’t. He can’t falter. “Tony,” Rhodey says again. “You can’t—I know you’re—”</p><p>“When did you tell me about the Raft, Pep?” Tony asks, swallowing hard, trying not to focus on all the aches and pains smothering him. “When did I hear that?”</p><p>“That was just earlier,” Pepper says, chewing on her lower lip. “Just—maybe ten minutes before you started—before you started waking up.”</p><p>“And how long has he been there?” Tony asks, pressing two fingers to his temple, trying to ease the pain there.</p><p>“Three days,” Happy says, hanging his head. “They transferred him—three days ago.”</p><p>Tony feels another wave of nausea that isn’t exactly connected to what all is going on with his body right now. He’s gotta go get Peter, and maybe their rundown will prepare him. He’s gotta know all the facts so when he breaks the law, he can back himself up afterwards. Because he’s gonna get him, and they’re gonna go somewhere safe. After that they can deal with the legalities. When they’re both in the same boat and Peter’s in front of him. Not surrounded by enhanced murderers.</p><p>“Where’s Morgan?” Tony asks, fast.</p><p>“With May,” Pepper says. “They’re here, she’s been watching her.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, swallowing hard. “Details. Facts. Go.”</p><p>They all sigh, almost in tandem, and he can tell they weren’t ready for him to wake up, and they sure as shit weren’t ready for him to wake up like <em>this</em>. This insane, asshole version of himself. Out of his damn mind. But he has to stay steadfast. He’s not sleeping anymore. No more house by the beach. </p><p>Real life.</p><p>“Friday,” Pepper says. “Play all the footage we have of the Spider-Man conflict.”</p><p>The screen flashes. Tony sees Peter as Spider-Man, on a bridge, confronting Beck. He sees all the drones, and all the news reports, Beck’s last message revealing Peter’s name and blaming all the drone shit on him. All the devastation wherever the fuck Beck went, the insanity in Prague, that asshole J. Jonah Jameson spreading lies and slandering Peter. </p><p>“He gave himself up immediately,” Rhodey says. “He didn’t want them chasing him down because he thought that would make him look guilty.”</p><p>Tony sees footage of the kid in handcuffs that look like vibranium. Surrounded by press, with Pepper and Rhodey at his side.</p><p>“After a while they didn’t even allow us to see him,” Pepper says. </p><p>“Why?” Tony asks, as the screen switches to the press following May around.</p><p>“Someone in the government was throwing up roadblocks, Tony,” Rhodey says. “Everywhere. With everything. We weren’t able to get into EDITH to get any footage—”</p><p>“EDITH?” Tony asks, eyes wide. “Why was EDITH involved?”</p><p>“Fury gave Peter the glasses, when he recruited him,” Rhodey says, wincing like he knows how many alarm bells are going off in Tony’s head. </p><p>“He wasn’t supposed to do that,” Tony says, throat hurting. “I’m not fucking dead.”</p><p>“We know,” Rhodey says. “He didn’t consult with anyone on it, and we thought it might—help, with the footage, but we were completely locked out. And they didn’t even consider that an indication that something funny was going on, they just considered us incompetent.”</p><p>“We were locked out,” Pepper repeats. “He locked us out. This was all orchestrated. We weren’t even able to find Beck’s identity on Stark servers for when he worked here. And that information never goes away.”</p><p>Tony sees trial footage. Some grubby-looking asshole at Peter’s side, barely speaking up for him. And Peter is just taking it. Sitting there with pain in his eyes, handcuffed to the goddamn table like he’s a danger to anybody. There’s nobody in the courtroom Tony recognizes. Not even May. How the hell did they manage to keep them out? May? How the hell did they keep May from Peter?</p><p>“How did they keep you away?” Tony asks, his voice breaking. “Did they—”</p><p>“They said we were biased, trying to plant evidence, change the narrative,” Happy says. “I maybe got in a fist fight with a guy from the Times.”</p><p>“We were going a little insane,” Pepper says. “Bad first reactions, we didn’t—keep our heads about us, and it didn’t look good. Didn’t help. With what they were already doing, we—shot ourselves in the foot.”</p><p>There’s more court footage, and Friday opens it all up into a four square to show different days and different angles. Tony sees the moment the verdict was handed down and the look of horror on Peter’s face, and Tony has to close his eyes. He feels fucking sick. </p><p>“They had the whole thing locked down before it even happened, Tony,” Rhodey says, voice trembling. “It was all planned, down to every detail. Including knowing exactly how to work Peter and cut us out. Once we were physically barred, none of our correspondence got through. Nothing. There were powerful people involved in this. The way the jury went, shit, I know they got to their families.”</p><p>“Friday,” Tony croaks. “Off. Turn it off.”</p><p>The screen goes blank and he dips his head into his hand. He’s shaking and he can feel the healing pod pulsing around his arm. His whole right side feels worse, like he’s burning up again, like that energy is radiating within him, like he’s about to snap his fingers. But it’s not the whole world he has to save, this time. It’s his kid. It’s Peter. </p><p>More important. <em>More Important.</em></p><p>“I literally don’t give a shit what was done,” Tony says, looking up. He’s shaking, his eyes are straining and he feels like he’s on fire. His anger rears up again, and he can’t see through it. “You are three of the strongest people I know. And the smartest. Literally surrounded by technology, why the <em>fuck</em> couldn’t you save him from this?”</p><p>“Tony,” Pepper says, almost like a warning. </p><p>“Pep,” Tony says back, staring at her. “I love you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I can’t—I feel like I’m dying, I feel like I’m not me, I feel like I’m this complete other person because I can’t be me because this <em>can’t be happening</em>. This is awful. This is—I cannot believe this shit, I can’t wrap my mind around it, there had to be something, there had to have been <em>something—</em>”</p><p>“Tony,” Rhodey says, “it was beyond—”</p><p>“Just like you said, they knew how to work him,” Tony says, voice shaking. “They knew he was good, and caring, and kind, and they took advantage of that, and you. You should have inserted a lawyer, someone we could trust—”</p><p>“We couldn’t, they didn’t let—”</p><p>“You don’t let them run you,” Tony says, good hand cutting through the air. “Whatever shadowy assholes did this, they are not better than you. You guys are the best of the best and I don’t understand how you let this happen. How everybody let this happen. We’ve got the Avengers on our side, for Christ’s sake, why didn’t anybody just tell Peter to shut up and fly him the fuck out of here? Huh? Thor? Take him to his video game den? Clint? He’s got fucking safehouses. Steve? I know Cap cares about kids. I know he does. And this is a special kid.”</p><p>They all go quiet, and they don’t look at him.</p><p>“What?” Tony asks, too loud. “What? Did one of them try? What are you not saying?”</p><p>Happy clears his throat and doesn’t say anything, and Tony feels like he’s about to explode.</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“Steve took the infinity stones, to replace them in time where we found them,” Rhodey says. “And he, uh. He never came back. We don’t know what the hell happened, and we tried to look through history and see if there was any trace of him where he shouldn’t have been, but he—he didn’t show up anywhere. So we don’t know if he decided to stay somewhere, or if something happened to him on the way, but he—he managed to get all the stones back where they were supposed to be. We do know that. So.”</p><p>Tony cracks his jaw and stares off at a spot on the far wall. If Steve got all the stones back in place, that means he made some kind of decision to stay in the past. There’s no other explanation. What the hell would happen, if he managed that feat, that they couldn’t find out about?</p><p>Betrayal itches down Tony’s chest, like it did back when they had all of their problems. If Steve had died somewhere in time, they would have been able to find out.</p><p>He stayed.</p><p>“I gotta fix this,” Tony mutters to himself, close to a panic attack, close to too much anger and things he might not want to say. “I gotta get the kid out.”</p><p>“You’re in no condition and it’s <em>insane, Tony</em>,” Rhodey says. “You can’t.”</p><p>“I can,” Tony snaps. “I’m not allowing him to stay there. I don’t care about the fucking law or the trial or any of the story they’re trying to spin.”</p><p>“We’ve been looking through every option,” Happy says. “We’re already appealing.”</p><p>Tony shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. He doesn’t have any logic in his head anymore, he left it on that fake fucking beach. He left it on the roof. There’s clearly no goddamn way to do this legally, because they tried, and they were boxed in. This is gonna take different measures. “Do you guys have any of my clothes here?” Tony asks, still shaking. </p><p>“You’ve got a suite on this floor,” Pepper says. “But Tony—”</p><p>He wavers to his feet with a groan and she stops talking. All three of them take a step forward and he holds out his hands. “I’ve got it,” he says. He doesn’t know if he’s got it. He knows he probably doesn’t have it, not yet. But he’s gotta have it. He’s gotta have it now. </p><p>“If you think I’m letting you go anywhere alone, you’ve got another thing coming,” Pepper says.</p><p>“Maybe I should have the government bar you,” Tony says, full of anger. “Since that’s all it takes.”</p><p>“Tony,” Happy says, fast. “That isn’t fair.”</p><p>He hates himself. He hates everybody else. He hates this, he <em>hates</em> this. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I just—”</p><p>“No, you’re right,” Pepper says. “We let them blindside us. We—we failed him.” She shakes her head and looks away, tears in her eyes.</p><p>“Tony, we get it, but you gotta stop,” Rhodey says. “You need—you’re angry. You’re injured, you’re not yourself, you’re—blinded, but we’re us. We’re us, okay? Okay? We’re on your side, we’re on his. Please. It killed us, to let this happen. We’re still trying to fix it. We’re not gonna leave it, we’re not.”</p><p>It makes him feel sick. He’s blowing up his own world. He can’t breathe, he can’t find the right words, the right anything. “Just—help me get to my suite, please,” he says, voice trembling. “And then I need—I need a bit.”</p><p>~</p><p>Once he’s alone in the room, he starts having Friday run tests on his body, so he can see exactly what he’s working with. And he gets dressed, barely, in a pair of sweats, and stews in his own anger, building up to pacing back and forth. He rubs feeling back into his legs, and nearly faceplants into the wall on one of his journeys to the other side of the room.</p><p>“Goddamnit,” he breathes. “God fucking dammit.” </p><p>He backhands everything off his bedside table without thinking about it first, and a cologne bottle breaks, a picture frame shatters. He stomps over to the dresser and knocks everything off of that, too, a couple tears streaking down his face. His anger is overwhelming and he hates that it’s directed at Pepper, at Rhodey and Happy, but as much as he tries to divert it, it stays. And he hates Steve, too. He knows he’s not dead. What the fuck is he doing?</p><p>“Friday, how would I fare in a suit?” Tony asks. “Huh? What’s my arm doing?”</p><p>“<em>The healing pod is repairing the nerve damage,</em>” Friday says. “<em>And you would need one of your stronger suits at this point, Boss, for any kind of confrontation.</em>”</p><p>“Are they here?” he asks, glancing back towards the screen where he sees her running tests. “What about one of the Hulkbuster prototypes? I know we’ve got a good couple.” He doesn’t know where the hell he’s been storing half of his suits. They’re all the fuck over. He doesn’t like to think about what he lost when the compound was destroyed.</p><p>“<em>We have twenty-seven finished suits stored at this facility, forty-two unfinished and unmarked, and two Hulkbuster prototypes. One finished and one unfinished.</em>”</p><p>“Where’s the workshop?” he asks. “Basement, yeah?”</p><p>“<em>Correct.</em>”</p><p>He sighs, trying to stop himself from shaking. “Any way we could put a house party type thing into effect with what we have here?”</p><p>“<em>Whatever you need, Boss.</em>”</p><p>Tony nods, and makes himself keep walking, weaving around the insane mess he made. Every second he’s still standing here feels like a fucking waste, and he knows he’s strong enough to let the suit take care of everything. He just has to be able to fucking walk and talk and give orders. The suits can do the moving and the shooting and the breaking.</p><p>His legs shake but he keeps walking. He keeps walking.</p><p>The door opens behind him, and he’s ready to yell, but then Morgan comes inside. She quickly shuts the door behind her, and he sees a mixture of fear and excitement in her eyes. He feels frozen in place, and before he can do anything she runs over and hugs his leg.</p><p>“Finally,” she says. “You were sleeping too long. You always said I slept too long and then you were sleeping too long.”</p><p>It kicks the wind out of him, seeing her, and he moves them clear of the glass on the ground. He kneels down with plenty of pain and dizziness and wraps his arms around her. </p><p>“Hey, honey,” Tony says. “Sorry I kept you waiting, I—I know you’re impatient.”</p><p>“I missed you,” she says, gripping his shoulders. </p><p>“I missed you too, Mo,” Tony says, squeezing her, watching a pulse go through the healing pod in his arm. “God, so much.” He thinks of her in that place in his head, thinks of all of them, and they were just shadows of their real selves. They were missing parts of what makes him love them so much.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she asks, clinging to his shoulder. “I was—I didn’t—Daddy, I didn’t know—”</p><p>“I’m fine, lovebug,” he says. “Just, you know, needed a big nap. That’s all. Now I’m awake and getting better and it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay now.”</p><p>Morgan pulls back and looks at him. Sometimes she has this weird wisdom in her eyes, which he’s sure comes directly from Pepper—absolutely none of that is from him. She’s wearing a little purse with a Spider-Man logo on it, and it nearly takes Tony’s breath away when he notices.</p><p>“You took forever and they took Petey away and Mommy couldn’t do anything.”</p><p>Tony closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why but he didn’t expect to hear that from her, not yet, anyway. He feels like worlds are colliding, even though he saw them together in his head. “You met—you got to know Peter?”</p><p>Morgan nods at him. “I was scared at first because you told me so much stuff about him and I didn’t think he’d like me but he was so nice, Daddy, and he—he liked talking to me and he helped me build the space cruiser for Barbie and they—he didn’t want to go on his trip but he went anyway and then bad things happened. And they took him away, I didn’t—I didn’t even get to see him again.”</p><p>It makes Tony feel sick. He tries to blink back his tears and he nods, his chest like a bow strung tight. Morgan reaches into her little purse, flipping the flap up, and she pulls out a polaroid picture and hands it to him.</p><p>He holds it with his good hand. It’s her and Peter, laying on the ground, their heads together. Both of them are grinning and Morgan’s eyes crinkle at the corners like they do when she’s really happy. Peter is wearing a crown and Morgan’s got some kind of mask pushed up on her forehead, and Tony tries to imagine all the things he missed when he was asleep.</p><p>Asleep. Trapped, while his enemies, known and unknown, took Peter away from him again. If they can do that, if they can carve something out of his life and force the strongest people he knows away from it, what the fuck else can they do?</p><p>Tony stares at the photo, and he never knew he could feel so much love and despair at the same time.</p><p>“I’m gonna get him back myself,” he says, voice breaking, meeting her eyes. “Okay? Myself. I’m gonna do it. It was my job and the world said nobody else could do it but me, so that’s how it’s gonna go down, okay?”</p><p>“He’s in jail,” Morgan says, lower lip trembling. “The bad jail. I saw it on the TV. He doesn’t belong there, Daddy, he’s good.”</p><p>“I know,” Tony says, nodding at her. “I know, baby. He’s not gonna be there for long. Promise you. I might have to go away for a while to help him but I’m gonna get him out of there. One hundred percent.”</p><p>Morgan nods at him. </p><p>“Okay?” Tony asks, determination building on top of his despair. “I promise.”</p><p>~</p><p>Tony keeps the photo after Morgan leaves with Pepper, and Pepper stares at him like she can’t understand what’s going on in his head. He kisses her, and holds her, and tries to be better, tries to be right. He hates feeling disconnected from her and the others but he’s single-minded now, brain a mangled mess, and his head is just that stormy, lonely place where all those assholes are locked up with his kid. Poor, kind, caring Peter.</p><p>Apparently Danvers gave Tony some kind of alien elixir to keep him strong in the coma, which is why he’s able to move at all now that he’s awake. Rhodey brings him a few more doses, once Tony’s made his way down to the workshop.</p><p>They make him feel stronger. They make him feel ready.</p><p>“You don’t have to watch me,” Tony says, already putting his plans in motion, having Friday reinforce the stronger Hulkbuster.</p><p>“Feel like I do,” Rhodey says, leaning against the door. “Since you’re clearly planning on doing something insane. And you won’t talk to us, you’re pissed at us, I get it—”</p><p>“Rhodey, this is my thing, okay?” Tony says, with as much force as he can muster without yelling. He knows what he’s gonna do is dangerous and fucking illegal, and once he’s done it—because he’s gonna fucking do it—he’s gonna need Rhodey’s help on the outside. He can’t have him in it with him. Once he changes the game and gets Peter to safety, Pepper and Rhodey will have more options. Different options, ones they don’t like, but what’s fair is fair.</p><p>“Tones—”</p><p>“Rhodey.”</p><p>“You’re not gonna go get yourself killed. No.”</p><p>“Nope, that’s not what I’m gonna do,” Tony says, looking up at him and past Friday’s work. “Now leave me alone, alright? I’ll tell you if I need you.” He tries to be gentle. Tries to drag that back out of him. “Okay? Please. I’m—I know what I’m doing. I promise.”</p><p>Rhodey shakes his head and leaves. Tony knows he has to understand, must be able to guess, because Tony isn’t exactly being subtle. </p><p>He hasn’t considered not doing this. Not for one second. </p><p>And the elixir is working. He feels better and better by the second. He checks out the healing pod and sees it flashing with life, and he can actually feel his arm now. </p><p>“Make sure all the bells and whistles are up and running,” Tony says. “Need to be one hundred percent on all avenues if this is gonna work, Fri.” He sighs, rubbing his hand over his chest, and he doesn’t even need to brace himself. He’s not afraid for himself, or afraid of failure. He’s afraid of what might happen before he gets there. </p><p>“Gimme a map of the Raft and find me a backdoor into their prisoner assignments,” Tony says, cracking his jaw and continuing to pace. He glances up as the suits rotate in, the bots reinforcing the Hulkbuster with pieces from the other prototype. “I’ve got to compensate for my arm. See if, uh, I can bring the healing pod into the suit. Might help.” He rubs his chest again and tries to stay steady on his feet.</p><p>“We’ve gotta put a new protocol into place,” Tony says, wiping at his eyes. “Drowning spider.”</p><p>~</p><p>They toss Peter back into his cell and he lands in a bloody heap, listening to the door seal closed. They usually take the handcuffs off when they put him back in, but they didn’t this time, and he groans, his wrists raw and chafing. He knows he’ll heal but right now he’s just a bruise, he’s just their fists and their elbows and the hoard of them, crushing him. </p><p>He hasn’t been counting the days because they all run together, an endless loop, and he lays there next to his mattress and bleeds. It tracks down his forehead in a jagged line, and he has to reach up with both hands and wipe it away before it drips into his eye. Two days? Three? A month? A year?</p><p>He tries not to live in the sadness that surrounds him in every moment here or it’ll choke him to death. It’ll be worse than the hurt and the loneliness and the betrayal, because he’ll fall into himself, he’ll let it happen, he won’t fight back. He won’t fight for a future where this isn’t his life anymore, because if the sadness takes him, the future will fade, too. He’ll realize there isn’t one. That there’s only this. That he’ll never see May again, never kiss MJ, never hug Ned. Never talk to Morgan or Pepper or Rhodey or Happy or any of the others he’s been getting to know since he’s been back.</p><p>And Tony. Tony isn’t awake. Tony doesn’t even know. Peter aches to talk to him, to get advice, to steal some of his strength because there’s nothing and no one like Iron Man. Nothing and no one like Tony Stark. </p><p>He rests his cuffed hands on his forehead and presses his lips together, trying to keep the tears at bay. He’s in a metal box. He’s on display here, he’s locked away, he’s a murderer and a monster to everyone who trusted him and relied on him before. They hate Spider-Man. They all believe it, they all believe it, how can they believe it? He wouldn’t. He’d <em>never. </em></p><p>He’s cold, and the shock control vest around his middle buzzes with a new charge.</p><p>“Please, please,” he whispers, trying to live in good things, in hope and possibility, even though he’s lower than low.</p><p>There has to be a future. There has to be a way to fix this. But what the hell can he do, from in here? They tried and they failed, and now he’s here. He’s hurt and he’s alone and he’s a target.</p><p>Peter is lost. Listless. There’s no light in here, and the metal walls are closing in on him. They’ll crush him soon.</p><p>“Please.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. drowning spider</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As soon as they take Peter out of the courtroom after the sentencing, they drug him.</p>
<p>And it doesn’t worry him at first, when the syringe goes in, because Tony always had trouble coming up with drugs that would do anything to him when they needed to go into emergency surgeries, like that time he nearly broke his arm in half. Peter expects a little loopiness but nothing that’s gonna last, nothing that’s gonna be worse than the fear in his heart or the overwhelming sadness clinging to him. </p>
<p>But he’s wrong.</p>
<p>It works almost instantly, and it reminds him of being drunk, of being drunk and underwater. Someone water-boarding him, poisonous tendrils, and he starts to lose control of his legs and they’re dragging him, pulling him along, undoing the handcuffs and redoing them behind his back. Snap, the skin on his wrist catching in the latch—</p>
<p>“I need to say...goodbye to my aunt,” Peter slurs, as they walk him down a hallway. He can barely feel his feet on the ground, and they kick a door open and shove him out into the sun. He winces like he hasn’t ever felt anything so bright, and he feels himself being dragged into a new set of hands.</p>
<p>“You’re not gonna be saying goodbye to anyone,” a voice says, and then he’s being tossed into somewhere darker, a door slamming closed. </p>
<p>His senses take hold of him and create a new world. Not a refuge, but one that’s just as bad, exaggerated and torn. He knows he’s in a transport of some kind, and he can feel them moving, the ground trying to rise up below him and swallow him whole. He almost questions whether or not they blindfolded him, because the pitch blackness is all encompassing, a bleak void with no shreds of light or points of hope. </p>
<p>Peter hears rushing in his ears and the ride is smoother, cascading through the air, and he sucks in a couple breaths. His own breathing is amplified, his heart too, and he feels like he should try to escape. He knows, with all that he is, that he didn’t do this, that he isn’t who they say he is, and he tried to cooperate to show that he had nothing to hide. That backfired in a way that’s still shaking in his core, and now—now he’s lost. Now there’s this. Why should he keep cooperating when they’ve already condemned him?</p>
<p>He feels the betrayal like metal in his mouth. Tearing at the corner of his eyes. Eager to rip him up into strips of nothing because despite what they said, and how people celebrated Spider-Man, they turned on him in an instant. One lie, and that was it. They didn’t stand by him, didn’t stand up for him, whether it would have mattered or not. He knows Pepper and Rhodey and Happy tried. He knows the Avengers made their thoughts known, too. But the people he’s been helping, the people he risks his life for—they all turned. </p>
<p>Tears race down his cheeks and he shakes his head. He knows there must be people out there who support him. He knows they must have tried. But the negative voices are always so much louder. They always have so much more power.</p>
<p>He tries to think. He presses his cuffed hands to the ground he’s sitting on—he’s in some kind of metal something. But he listens harder, and hears lapping waves, getting more violent as they travel further, and he realizes—they’re over water. Whether there’s a door or not, whether he could even find it in the darkness, he’d drop into water. The handcuffs are vibranium, which is why he can’t get out of them, so he’d drop and he’d drown. That’s it.</p>
<p>Everything gets louder, then, in a wave of something surely related to the drugs, and Peter doubles over, gasping for breath. He wonders if they’re even bringing him anywhere. He wonders if they’re just killing him.</p>
<p>He starts to lose time after that, in shocks of nausea and panic, an electrical storm in his head. He’s in the dark, and then he’s being dragged out of it, hands grabbing his shoulders.</p>
<p>There’s a real storm above his head now, from what he can see through the stained glass of his eyes, and he wrenches away from the men dragging him, elbowing him, kneeing the one to his left. They both buckle and let him go but Peter doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, because there’s sea on all sides of him, wild wind and cold, and he feels like crying out, feels like begging for Tony and May to come save him, but he’s so far away, he’s so far away, and the drugs are warping his head and making his fear a monster, rearing its head—</p>
<p>—they stab him with another syringe, directly into his neck, and he blacks out, acid eating at his vision like old film—</p>
<p>He hears faraway voices, whispers from people that aren’t there—</p>
<p>He’s in and out, in and out—</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ll catch it, Peter, toss it here—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>—where were you, Mr. Parker, you’re not supposed to wander off—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They’re gone, honey, they’re—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>—and it’s okay, kid, I promise, I’m here for the long haul—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t look at me with those puppy eyes—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s gonna come out great and then I’m gonna buy the millennium falcon one and then—</em>
</p>
<p>Peter blinks. His hands are in front of him again, and he’s being held up on either side, in front of a steel desk and a few stern-faced guards. One of them drags him forward by the cuffs and—</p>
<p>He blinks again and they’ve stripped him down, now they’re spraying him with water, and he holds up his hands in front of his face, free for the moment, but the water is strong and powerful and painful—</p>
<p>He closes his eyes, because it hurts, because his head is throbbing, because every beat of his heart is full of fear and pinpricks and an agony he can’t swallow down—</p>
<p>He blinks again and they’ve got him dressed in something white, stiff material, what feels like fatigues. His hands are cuffed in front again, and he tries to suck in a breath while he’s living in the moment. His equilibrium is off and he sways, stumbling over his own feet, but he’s still got two men on either side of him. </p>
<p>Peter can knock them off. He knows he can. The drugs can’t get rid of his strength. He’s loopy as fuck, sure, he’s going in and out, yeah, but he could…</p>
<p>Where the hell would he go?</p>
<p>He’s here. He’s in it now. He’s in the fucking Raft.</p>
<p>“I’m having a hard time,” he croaks.</p>
<p>“Good,” one of the men says, and yanks him forward. His hand feels like a brand on Peter’s arm.</p>
<p>He blinks again and he’s in a smaller room. Steel but somehow dank and wet, and Peter sways, trying to wet his lips. There are still the same two men on either side of him, he thinks, but there’s another in front of him, holding what looks like a yellow vest.</p>
<p>“Jesus, how much did you give him?” the man with the vest asks.</p>
<p>“He’s an enhanced—”</p>
<p>“I know, but shit, he looks like he’s barely there—”</p>
<p>“He started to get squirrely when we landed, and we didn’t want to take any chances. Keep him docile.”</p>
<p>Peter’s tongue feels too big. The handcuffs are too tight and they’re digging into his wrists, painful when he tries to move his hands. The whole outside of his vision is shimmering like a broken void and his first inclination is to plead with this man to help him. His tone is different, he seems like he’s got more empathy than the assholes transporting him have been showing.</p>
<p>Peter can barely hone in on their faces. He can barely focus. Barely move his fucking head.</p>
<p>“Uncuff him for a second so I can put this thing on.”</p>
<p>“Better do it quick. He’s dangerous, he’s a goddamn murderer.”</p>
<p>“Who ever thought Spider-Man would become a murderer?”</p>
<p>They twist him around, rough, and he feels like his world rattles as they grab for the cuffs. “I’m—I’m not—”</p>
<p>Again. But this break feels like an abyss, the water boarding again, and for a moment he wonders if it’s actually happening. He coughs and splutters and he feels heavier now, and he looks down at himself—he’s wearing the vest he saw before, and he can feel it buzzing with electricity. Tears prick at his eyes and the two men push him down a hallway and into a bigger space, and then suddenly everything is filled up with sound.</p>
<p>People yelling, screaming, and some of them are—some of them are warped, some of them have horns, tails, clearly alien species, mixed in with groups of humans, all wearing exactly what he’s wearing now. They catch sight of him and they call out names, make gestures, and his vision blurs with the drugs, with his tears, with his panic. </p>
<p>Shit, shit, shit.</p>
<p>Peter knows he’s put bad guys away here. Tony has, the Avengers have. They’re here. So many of them are here. This is where the worst of the worst are, enhanced, and some things that the government is hiding, keeping under wraps. Things the Avengers didn’t even know about. </p>
<p>They all sneer at him.</p>
<p>“There he is, there’s the fresh meat—”</p>
<p>“Wow, Spider-Man, that’s what was under that mask—”</p>
<p>“How the tables turn—”</p>
<p>He must be moving too slow because the men push him forward with a hand in the middle of his back, and Peter catches sight of a blonde woman that doesn’t look like she belongs here at all, near the back of the crowd.</p>
<p>Peter buzzes out for a brief second, shorter than the other times, he thinks, and then they’re undoing the handcuffs and pushing him into a cell. It’s tiny, stifling, and he twists in dizziness, tries to find words, but the door seals shut before he can say anything.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>Chills run up and down his arms and he stands there for a second like things might change if he stays still enough, like he might blink again in his drugged-out stupor and he’ll be back in his room and back in his life and all of this will be over. </p>
<p>It hits him a second later, like he’s caught up in a monsoon, and everything comes rushing to the surface. There’s a toilet in the corner and he rushes over and collapses in front of it, puking his guts out, squeezing his eyes shut tight. He pukes again and nearly chokes on his own sobs, and he scrambles to the other corner, drawing his knees up to his chest as close as he can without pressing hard to the vest. </p>
<p>Peter’s heart is going wild and he’s breathing fast, trying to stop from drowning in his panic attack, but it’s scraping at him anyway, clawing at him, and he trembles and shakes and his eyes feel like they’re gonna burn out of his head. The drugs are still simmering in his system and he doesn’t know what the fuck time it is and he feels like he’s on a ship in the middle of a storm, being thrown across the deck and landing on hard wood, splinters sticking in his skin, blood in the violent water as it bowls him over and tries to drag him under.</p>
<p>He doesn’t remember when he last saw May. He doesn’t remember when he last held her hand, when she last hugged him. He’s small again, four years old and orphaned and standing in their living room with Ben and May fluttering around him trying to tell him they’ll take care of him, that he’ll be safe with them.</p>
<p>He’s small and lost again, because he doesn’t have them now, because his parents are gone and Ben is gone and Tony might not ever wake up. May is stuck behind a wall and kept from him and his friends are gone and he’s here.</p>
<p>He’s not in any special wing. No matter what’s going on in his head, no matter the murky spots or gasping hallucinations or blackouts, he knows that, he got that. They put him in general population. They put him where everyone else is. Where anyone can get at him. Where anyone can hurt him.</p>
<p>Peter stares off at the door, eyes blurry with tears, his lower lip trembling. Everything suddenly seems very present, very real, very now and solid. </p>
<p>He doesn’t know how long he’s supposed to be here. Is it a life sentence? Is he eligible for parole? He doesn’t know what the fuck they were fighting for. What they lost. He didn’t hear the specifics. The word <em>guilty</em> was like a stab to the gut and it was high-pitched ringing from then on, when the sentencing was being handed down, too quick, apparently, too fast, just like everything else. He knew it was the Raft and that’s it, but now he’s staring down the long, dilapidated road in front of him, realizing it’s probably never ending. </p>
<p>This is what it is, now. </p>
<p>He stares, his ears burning, and his panic is giving way to something else. The kind of catatonia he’s always avoided because he’s had people surrounding him who cared, who comforted, who held him and grounded him and made sure everything was gonna be alright. He’s seen it before, in people who didn’t have anyone to come for them after a fire, after an attack, when he found them and dragged them out from under rubble or freed them from a villain’s lair. </p>
<p>He’d sit with those people. The ones that were alone. He’d hold their hands or wrap an arm around their shoulders and talk as much as they wanted him to, or not at all.</p>
<p>But there’s no one to sit with him now. </p>
<p>He stares off at the door for what feels like forever, and then he gets up, almost robotically, and lays on the mattress. That’s all his cell is. A toilet, a sink, and a mattress. One bulb emitting weak light. Small and stifling and sad.</p>
<p>There aren’t even any sheets. </p>
<p>Peter stares at the ceiling and falls into himself. His breathing goes shallow. Never in his life has he felt like giving up, but he’s close, now. The only thing stopping him is knowing they’re out there. Knowing they still love him. </p>
<p>That love reaches across the sea and tries to grasp him here. He closes his eyes and tries to let it.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He’s falling into a rotten, uncomfortable sleep when the door starts to open. The drugs have mostly worn off, only leaving behind a trace of dizziness. Peter is on a hair trigger and he clamors out of the bed, unsure where the best place is to go. His brain runs through about thirty different options, including rushing past whoever the fuck this is and trying to escape. But where would he escape to? There are too many levels. There’s nowhere to go.</p>
<p>It isn’t a guard, which is the best possible scenario. It’s a group of inmates he doesn’t recognize, four of them—one has a long facial scar, and sharpened teeth when he opens his mouth. Two others have glowing blue eyes, and the fourth is bigger and hulkier than the rest, dipping his head to get inside the cell.</p>
<p>Peter barely has a moment to think before they’re coming at him, sneering. He slips under an arm that grabs for him, throws a kick and knocks the four of them back in a heap like a bundle of bowling pins. But one of the glowing eyes guys rushes at him, grabbing him around the throat and shoving him against the wall. He squeezes.</p>
<p>“The little spider,” the man says, tilting his head at him. “How strange, you wound up in here, huh?”</p>
<p>Peter grits his teeth, knocking his own arms up and breaking the hold. The big guy backhands him before he can make another move, and Peter falls to the ground. The room seems smaller once the four of them converge on him, kicking and punching and scratching and scraping. Peter winces, clutching at his middle where a hard blow lands, and he grabs one of their ankles and yanks the guy down—the one with the scar—and he lands hard beside him. Peter can barely see, and he realizes it’s because there’s blood in his eye, but he aims a knee kick anyway, and the big guy goes down, too, with a harder slam than the other. Peter scrambles to his feet but the glowing eyes guys come together—they back him against the wall again, grabbing him by his hair and slamming his head against steel. </p>
<p>It makes the dizziness worse, and Peter struggles, trying to kick at them. He gets one off, kicking the one on the right back, but the one holding him moves in closer, crunching Peter’s bent leg up against his chest. The vest gives a little jolt on its own, and Peter gasps, seeing stars. The man holds a knife to his throat.</p>
<p>“That’s—all that is interesting,” the big guy says, standing back up and breathing hard.</p>
<p>“Shut up,” the guy with the scar says, pushing him when he gets up too. “Don’t say shit.”</p>
<p>The knife cuts into Peter’s skin a little bit, and it hurts to look right into this guy’s eyes, so he averts his own. The asshole’s breath smells and Peter winces, trying to think of what to do next. He could retaliate, punch him in the throat or something, but he might cut his throat. </p>
<p>And then. That’s it.</p>
<p>“You’ve fucked with a lot of my friends on the outside,” the guy says, pressing even closer to him, and Peter’s knee is crying out in agony from how it’s pinned. “And now I’ve got you. Right here.”</p>
<p>“Alright, get the fuck out,” a guard says abruptly, from the door. “You’re not supposed to kill him. You know that.”</p>
<p>The guy presses the knife harder to Peter’s neck like he doesn’t hear him, but the others start to file out. Peter glances up and stares at him, despite the pain.</p>
<p>“Get off of him. Now. You’re done.”</p>
<p>The man growls and pushes off, and Peter slides down the wall, grabbing at his leg. The guard doesn’t spare him another look once they’re all out, and he tosses a tray in that clamors onto the ground, most of its contents spilling out. </p>
<p>“No utensils,” he says. “Don’t want you hurting yourself.”</p>
<p>Peter glances up, but he doesn’t see a friendly face or a potential ally. The guard only looks at him with disdain, which makes Peter question why the hell he pulled them off of him. He moves back out into the hall and the door seals shut behind him. </p>
<p>“Shit,” Peter breathes, trying to straighten his leg back out. He doesn’t think it’s broken or anything but he probably pulled something, and he still feels like he’s sizzling after the smallest fucking jolt from the electric vest. What the hell would a real charge feel like?</p>
<p>He gasps, still working on his leg, and he tries to massage his knee, sniffling. He rubs the blood out of his eye with the back of his hand, and finds the wound just beyond his hairline. It isn’t bleeding profusely, but enough to track down his face.</p>
<p>He sucks in a couple breaths, feeling hopeless, and looks at the tray. Beans splayed across the ground. A piece of bread still in place. A chunk of unidentifiable meat half on the tray and half on the floor. </p>
<p>Peter’s stomach growls but he doesn’t want to eat. He doesn’t want to fucking do anything anymore. Not here. Not like this. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He sleeps, after that, with what’s left of the night. Barely, with nightmares set on choking him, swirling around in black and white pictures and bulging eyes. He wakes up over and over, reminded that it wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t. He’s here. This is happening.</p>
<p>Peter doesn’t want to be too present in his new situation. He needs to be aware of what’s going on, he needs to be aware of his surroundings, but living in the moment feels like drowning and he can hardly stop himself from bursting into tears at any given moment. And that won’t work. They can’t see him like that. He can’t let them see him like that. They already know, they already assume, but he can’t confirm it for them.</p>
<p>Peter eats a sad breakfast of stale toast and dry cereal in his cell, and the guard puts handcuffs on him as soon as the door opens. </p>
<p>“I didn’t think everyone had to wear these...out there,” he says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. His heart is hammering in his ears, because he knows what this means. What it opens him up to.</p>
<p>“You’re new,” the guard says, snapping the releases around Peter’s wrist, too tight again. “It’s either this for the first couple days when you’re out and about or we drug you. I figure you prefer this?”</p>
<p>Peter cracks his jaw and stares off at a far point on the next balcony. He’s down at the end of one set of cells, and there’s another on the balcony across from where they are, and more down on the first level. He can hear the general population clamoring and yelling somewhere close. </p>
<p>“Huh?” the guard asks, the word echoing off the walls, and he shakes the cuffs where they meet in the middle. It seems like they’ve prepared for Peter, with the vibranium cuffs and whatever drug they were using. Like they knew all along he’d wind up here, and they were ready to hold him down. </p>
<p>“What will you do?” Peter asks, carefully. “If I get attacked and I can’t defend myself like this?”</p>
<p>The guard gives him a certain look. “We break up what we can see,” he says.</p>
<p>Peter stares back, and he knows what the hell that means. He’s sure there’s a lot they miss, and not because they actually don’t see it. </p>
<p>It looks like they opened all the other cells already, and the guard pushes Peter to the right, in the direction of all the sound. He feels like he did in the courtroom, he feels like he did when he turned himself in. He feels like he did when Ben died, he feels like he did when they told him Tony was in the coma. </p>
<p>His chest is tight, his stomach in knots, the air in and out of his throat full of nails, sharp and cutting and making him waver. His eyes are straining with unshed tears and so much uncertainty. He’s in pain, and it twists every part of him. Makes his steps uneven. His mind a hazy minefield of panic and memories that feel all locked up, teasing him with their existence.</p>
<p>No more May. No more MJ. No more Tony. No more Ned. No more Spider-Man.</p>
<p>They hate Spider-Man.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for the attacks to start. He fends one off as soon as he steps into the general population area, knocking this random tattooed guy out with one punch despite the cuffs, but he isn’t so lucky a couple minutes later, when a gang of three rush him. They’re clearly enhanced, and one of them has barbs in his palms that he cuts Peter with, twisting his wrist in his hand. The guards don’t break it up immediately, they wait until there’s blood, and then they wrap it up and act like nothing happened.</p>
<p>He doesn’t recognize anyone until he sees one of the guys from Gargan’s gang, and one of the guys that was working with the Vulture. Peter wonders if he’ll see Toomes here, and his stomach twists at that thought, like a sickness is coming on. But he doesn’t come across him, not yet, anyway.</p>
<p>Peter gets attacked at least six or seven times before lunch time, and he’s almost sure he’s got a goddamn concussion. But nobody bothers to check. They put him back in his cell periodically, taking the cuffs off every time and snapping them back on when they let him back out. He doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. Whether they’re trying to lock him into a routine or whether they’re just trying to mess with him. He never sees anyone else being put back in. And he watches, trying to understand. Trying to be separate, trying to gather information and pretend this isn’t what’s fucking happening to him.</p>
<p>He sits at a table by himself in the cafeteria and listens to the ringing in his ears. He’s starting to doubt he’s still only on his second day, considering the first was full of drugs and barely manageable, and time feels like it’s eluding him. He can barely eat with the fucking handcuffs on, not that the slop on his tray looks at all appetizing.</p>
<p>He thinks about May. Thinks about her dinners. She couldn’t really cook but she did it with love, and just having her across from him made everything better. His heart aches for the life he had before. He doesn’t know how this can be happening. He doesn’t understand it, and he doesn’t think he ever will.</p>
<p>“You need to protect yourself more,” a voice says, beside him.</p>
<p>Peter turns and sees the blonde woman he saw before sitting next to him. Once again, at first glance, she doesn’t seem like she belongs here. She’s older than him, pretty, and doesn’t have any obvious enhancements to speak of. She just looks...normal. He doesn’t know if he can trust her, if she was sent here by someone or what, and he doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“I know that’s gonna be hard for the first couple days,” she says. “Especially when they still have the cuffs on you. They seem to be paying special attention to you, though.”</p>
<p>Peter sighs and takes a bite of the hard bread roll. </p>
<p>“Listen,” she says, leaning closer and lowering her voice. “I know who you are. I’m Trish Walker, I—I don’t know if you’ve heard about me, I made some mistakes out there, I—alienated my only friend—”</p>
<p>Peter tries to wrack his mind, but he can’t remember. Things have been a little crazy lately, not even considering him being in the <em>Raft</em>. Five years, and even before that—he’s surprised he can remember anything. </p>
<p>“—and I’ve been here for a long time, but I still know about Spider-Man,” she says. </p>
<p>He looks at her again. “Do you believe what they say I did?” he asks, voice wavering.</p>
<p>She smiles slightly. “No,” she says. “And I know looks can be deceiving, but you’re—just looking at you, I know you’re not capable of all that. And knowing Spider-Man, well. I don’t think you’re the type to change so quick, or play the long game at being something you’re not.”</p>
<p>Peter blows out a breath.</p>
<p>“I’m not gonna ask you to tell me your life story or plead your case or anything like that,” she says. “I’m just saying, you need to try and be as small as you can be. They’re going for you in a big way, and it seems a little—pointed? As in, I expected them to go hard but they’re going <em>hard</em>.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know how to make myself small,” Peter says, pushing the stew or whatever it is around on his tray. “Everyone knows I’m here. Everyone wants to—I don’t know.”</p>
<p>“Don’t make eye contact with people,” she says. “Don’t ever be in the center of the room. Don’t trust anybody.”</p>
<p>“How do I even know I can trust you?” he asks. </p>
<p>“You don’t,” she says. “And you shouldn’t. But you know pretty quickly who’s a problem and who’s not. And this is big, little spider. You just need to try and blend in and be careful for a while. And maybe they’ll get bored.”</p>
<p>Peter lets out a wavering breath. His chest is tight again but there’s an anger surging there, too. “I don’t want to make them think I’m afraid,” he says, holding his chin high. “I’m stronger than most of the people here, they’re just—they’re holding me back. With the cuffs, with the—with the drugs, throwing me in and out of the cell—”</p>
<p>“I know you are,” she says, gently, like she really does believe him. “This place is a mess. I think they do something to try and make it feel like time is moving slower, or faster, or whatever the hell they want. Something in the air, something—I don’t know. When I was out in the world I thought a lot of things were possible that were impossible before, but in here? There was a lot out there that I had no idea about. Long story short, they want things to be hard for us here. We’re the worst of the worst.”</p>
<p>Peter shakes his head. His frustration is making him waver and he swallows hard.</p>
<p>“I know,” she says. “I know you’re not.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He understands what she’s saying about the way time feels, because the day feels stretched out so far that he can hardly accept that he’s still living the same life. He gets in three more fights and feels like he nearly pulls his arm out of its socket, trying to throw punches with the handcuffs on. </p>
<p>No one comes into his cell that night, but he hardly sleeps, staring at the door. </p>
<p>
  <em>“Sweetheart,” May says, rubbing his back. “You have to hide, alright? Just a little bit longer.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>They’re in a dark room, and there’s small bed in the corner where Morgan sits, playing with her dolls. Tony comes up beside Peter, a hand on his shoulder. Peter stares at him like he’s a ghost. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“We’re gonna be okay,” he says. “I promise.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“How do you know?” Peter asks, voice wavering. “I’m trapped, I’m—there’s no way out. Nowhere for me to hide.” He looks at May too, and he sucks in a breath. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m sleeping right now,” Tony says. “But when I wake up—”</em>
</p>
<p>The door opens and Peter scrambles awake. </p>
<p>“Parker!” the guard calls, sticking his head in. “Get out here. It’s a beautiful morning.” He holds the handcuffs up on the tip of his pointer finger.</p>
<p>Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>A couple attacks, thrown into his cell. Taken out, a couple more attacks, thrown back in. In, out, in, out, special treatment by everybody that looks at him. Peter’s head hurts. He wants to throw the guards off of him, he wants to fucking run, but he can’t, he <em>can’t</em>, he knows that. There’s nowhere to run to. No one.</p>
<p>“You’re real, real popular, aren’t you?” the guard asks, dragging him along by his arm, back to his cell again. “Yeah, we knew you’d be.”</p>
<p>“I like to make friends,” Peter says, purposefully not looking at him.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the guard says. “Everybody wants you as a friend. Want to see how you tick.”</p>
<p>Peter’s ear is bleeding, a cut on his neck is bleeding, and his leg feels like it’s been twisted the wrong way. But the guard doesn’t seem to care, and when they get to his cell, he shoves him in with the handcuffs still on and closes the door behind him. </p>
<p>Peter lands in a bloody heap, and lays there next to his mattress and bleeds.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>He falls into his sadness. He falls into his begging, sending whimpered pleas out into the ether even though no one can hear. He hurts and rethinks and overthinks and he knows things could be worse—they could have killed him, he could have fallen down mid-fight and pulled his knees up to his chest and cried like a baby. But he fought, as much as he could, and he hasn’t stopped fighting since he got here. They want him like that, they want him down and out, they want him at his lowest.</p>
<p>He’s here now. He can’t give them anything else. </p>
<p>Peter draws in a wavering breath and stumbles to his feet. There are still tears in his eyes and he tries to blink them away, pacing back and forth. He looks down at the handcuffs, gritting his teeth, trying to pull them apart. He’s mad about being restrained, mad they keep yanking him around, angry, full of rage—</p>
<p>He stops, sucking in a breath. </p>
<p>He’s more—hurt, than anything else. Not physically, though he’s really messed up, but—it’s stupid. His feelings shouldn’t matter. This is bigger than that.</p>
<p>It just feels like his heart is—splitting in half. Like he can’t breathe. Like he shouldn’t be able to breathe.</p>
<p>He paces for however long, trying not to think, trying not to think about the people he loves and the world out there, how it’s the same and how it’s different. He feels like a copy of himself. Exactly as he is, but with so much missing. Life missing.</p>
<p>They drag him back out around dinner time, and he pulls at his handcuffs as he walks back out.</p>
<p>“Are there worse people?” Peter asks, without looking back at the guard. “Locked up here?”</p>
<p>“There are some we have to literally keep strapped to the walls,” the guard says. “Maybe we should put you in there with them, huh? Let ‘em have a little bit of fun.”</p>
<p>Peter’s stomach turns. “I thought they’d—I thought they’d keep me separate.”</p>
<p>“Maybe they will,” the guard says, knocking him forward, so much so that Peter almost trips over his own feet. “It’s not your business, huh? You lost all your privileges when you tricked everybody into thinking you’re a hero. People don’t like that. They don’t like being tricked.”</p>
<p>Tricked. </p>
<p>That’s what Beck did to him.</p>
<p>That’s this whole fucking thing. </p>
<p>The betrayal wraps around him like a straitjacket, cutting off his air supply. Beck betrayed him, he hurt him, and to top it all off, he made sure Peter wound up <em>here</em>. There’s no way he’s really dead. There’s no way. He orchestrated this, there’s no way he’s gone. Peter thinks about hate, about what he thought they had, how he thought he’d made a friend. An ally, someone—someone who understood while Tony was out of commission.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think about it. </p>
<p>And surprisingly, he’s left alone during dinner. He doesn’t see Trish anywhere. He’s stuck between wanting to hold his head high and wanting to shrink back, but he sits alone and doesn’t look at anyone. Doesn’t wallow in his grief, doesn’t think about <em>them</em> and how much he misses them and how every moment is like a new crack in his heart. </p>
<p>He’s still in pain from the previous fights and he wonders how he’ll heal, wonders what would have to happen for them to have to give him actual treatment. It seems like the guards want this to happen, like they want him to get attacked, and Peter guesses that’s just how it is here. Nobody on the outside knows what goes on behind these walls, and they don’t care, either. The guards hate him too. They hate what they think he is.</p>
<p>It happens when he gets up to return his tray. The cafeteria has mostly cleared out, and he heard cells opening and closing. He doesn’t know schedules yet, or if there are any, and he’s dizzy with the sick state of his life when he gets slammed up against the wall.</p>
<p>He immediately rails back against the body holding him but someone else comes to back him up, and then there’s something shoved over Peter’s eyes, knocking him into darkness. He tries to reach up and push it off, his heart screaming in his ears, but hands start knocking him around, punching him, kicking him. </p>
<p>Peter can hear better like this, their shoes scratching against the floor, the buzzing of their vests, their breathing, grunting—he slips under a punch, and runs into one of the guys like a battering ram. But then someone tosses him against the wall again, and he can feel them coming to sweep his legs out from under him—he can’t move away fast enough and he clatters to the floor. </p>
<p>He hears the crack of a knee as someone moves closer, and he aims right at it and kicks, hearing a groan follow. He elbows someone away from him and pushes the blindfold up off one eye before one of them laughs and punches him right in the face. His head hits the ground and he’s hazy for a second before a voice calls out.</p>
<p>“Alright, we got it!” the voice says. “We got enough.”</p>
<p>What the hell does that mean? Peter sucks in a few breaths, his arm throbbing where he keeps pulling at it trying to fight with these goddamn handcuffs, and he winces as he pushes the blindfold the rest of the way off his head. </p>
<p>There were four men and they disperse, and Peter tries to scurry away from the guard before he holds up a small box with a blinking red light.</p>
<p>“Don’t make me,” he says, holding it poised in the air. “I can shock the shit out of you so bad you’ll be drooling on the floor for the rest of the night. Enhanced or not.”</p>
<p>Peter sets his jaw and stares at him, doesn’t say anything. </p>
<p>The guard stares back, gives him a sickly smile, and replaces the box on his belt. “Now, you’re going in the hole. You’re starting too many goddamn fights.”</p>
<p>“Starting?” Peter exclaims, his anger wrenched out of him. “They’re attacking <em>me</em>, I’m not starting anything, are your eyes working—”</p>
<p>The guard puts his hand on the box on his belt and raises his eyebrow.</p>
<p>Peter sighs and falls back onto the hard ground, staring up at the ceiling. He wants to say <em>you’ll have to drag me</em> but he’s sure he’ll have to deal with the electricity if he does that, and he doesn’t know how much he can take, with the state he’s in.</p>
<p>So, a moment later, he gets up and goes.</p>
<p>The hole is isolation and it’s a few levels down, and the room is smaller than his cell, and not tall enough for him to even stand up. Peter sits on the dirty cement once he crawls in, and the guard links his handcuffs up to a spot on the wall, so his arms are extended a bit above his head and pinned there. </p>
<p>He can’t move.</p>
<p>Peter breathes hard and is close to a panic attack. He never really acts on his anger but he wants to lash out now, because the hurt inside him is only growing with every passing second. He wets his lips and refuses to fucking cry.</p>
<p>“This is torture,” he says, voice raspy. “Does—does General Ross know this is how you deal with people here? Does anybody else?”</p>
<p>“You’re a murderer,” the guard says, backing out of the cell and standing back up outside of it, so Peter can’t see his face. “You’re a dangerous criminal. God knows what you could get up to if we don’t keep you restrained.”</p>
<p>Peter wants to scream, and his anger and sadness is filling up his throat. “You’re treating me differently,” he says. “Than everybody else.”</p>
<p>“No we’re not,” the guard says. “Got four more strung up just like you right now. You’re not special, Spider-Man. You’re not shit.”</p>
<p>Peter chews on his lower lip. His face hurts, his arms ache, and his heart can’t take much more of this. How the fuck is he gonna be here <em>forever</em>? Someone out there has to do something. Someone has to. He shifts a bit and winces when a muscle in his arm pulls, and he can’t move his wrists at all with how they’re linked to the wall. </p>
<p>“How long?” he asks, not looking up at the guard.</p>
<p>“One night’s good enough for now, I think,” he says. “Maybe you’ll miss breakfast. And maybe you’ll think about being such a troublemaker if you know this is what’s waiting for you. And this isn’t the worst you can get.”</p>
<p>What if they leave him here? </p>
<p>What if they leave him here for longer than that? </p>
<p>On purpose? </p>
<p>On accident? </p>
<p>Not able to move, not able to eat? </p>
<p>They could leave him here for days. They could forget about him. He could die here, he could die here. Chained to this wall in a cell. He can’t move. Even if he wasn’t chained to the wall he can’t move. If he was out of these handcuffs he could punch through the wall. It would take a lot of effort and a lot of tries but he could probably do it. What’s on the other side? Where the hell is he? Is it just the sea, waiting to swallow him up? A raging tempest swarming, wretched hands reaching out to drown him?</p>
<p>What would be worse? Drowning out there or wasting away in here?</p>
<p>Either way they’d never see him again.</p>
<p>Peter tries to settle himself down, because he’s panicking. He can’t say anything else because if he does he’ll start screaming. The guard closes the door and Peter is left in complete darkness, which ramps up the fear radiating all over him. He’s in so much danger here. They have everything to use against him. And he can barely defend himself. He twists his hands in the cuffs and makes them into fists, and he closes his eyes, trying to breathe.</p>
<p>“Iron Man can’t come and save you now,” the guard’s voice says. He laughs, and then Peter hears him walk away.</p>
<p>Peter trembles, in too much pain in too many different ways. </p>
<p>“Tony,” he whispers. “Please wake up. Please wake up. Please come get me. Please. Please.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. is this real?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>He’s screaming. The walls are closing in, and Peter can’t move, his arms and legs frozen. There are a thousand voices all around him, chanting “murderer!” over and over and over again. They hate him, and he can taste their vitriol. It’s louder than he is. It’s a gag in his mouth, stifling the truth. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s screaming. But he can’t hear his own voice. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s dark. It’s too dark.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Quentin Beck laughs, and Peter falls into the ocean, and drowns.</em>
</p>
<p>He startles awake when the door to the hole clamors open, and he groans immediately at how cramped and stiff his arms are, in entropy above his head. He squints against the light, and a different guard from the night before crouches inside. He unlatches the handcuffs from the wall and Peter’s arms fall right down into his lap, nearly dead weight. They’re pinpricks and white noise and he gasps, trying to regain control. The handcuffs still hinder him and he’s getting panicky again about being in them so long. It’s been forever since he last had them off. More than a day. </p>
<p>The guard pats him on the shoulder like they’re old friends. </p>
<p>“C’mon,” he says, taking Peter’s elbow and trying to pull him out. “Into your cell for a couple hours.”</p>
<p>Peter struggles out after him, and doesn’t know why the hell he’s going back into his cell, especially if he’s missed breakfast. But then he reminds himself that they do this shit on purpose to keep him on his toes, and hopefully they’ll take the handcuffs off so he can have some time without them. </p>
<p>At least they didn’t leave him in the hole longer than they said they would. Or let anything worse happen, like he was worried about.</p>
<p>His legs are cramping up too when he straightens them out, and he nearly crumples back to the floor when he tries to stand outside the small cell. The guard doesn’t help much, laughing lightly and keeping him from falling. Peter feels desperate, and he’s close to saying <em>please help me, please, do you know how old I am? I’m just a kid, I’m only sixteen, please, please get me out of here.</em> But he knows it wouldn’t matter. They know how old he is. They put him here anyway.</p>
<p>Peter takes a couple wavering steps, still trying to adjust to the light. His dream rattles in his head like a death knell.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised you’re as young as you are,” the guard says, like he was reading his mind. “Shit, nobody was expecting it, with everything Spider-Man can do. With what you did, too, Christ. All those people. That poor Mysterio. Awful to be capable of so much at so young. Maybe being here will get you on track. Make you think about the life ahead of you.”</p>
<p>Peter sighs, wants to defend himself, but he knows it wouldn’t matter, anyway. He glances back as they walk away from the hole, a shudder running through him.</p>
<p>The guard follows his gaze, laughing a bit again and half dragging him to the elevator. “You’ll get used to it in there. It won’t always be as bad as the first time.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to get used to it,” Peter says, without thinking. “I don’t wanna be in there again.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” the guard says, the elevator doors opening when they pass the movement sensor. “Everybody gets their time.”</p>
<p>Peter swallows hard as they step on, the guard selecting the general population floor. The doors slide shut and Peter tries to move his arms as much as he can while cuffed like this, trying to get the feeling back into them. He leans back against the wall, with the guard’s grip on him, and he tries to even out his breathing. <em>Everybody gets their time</em> sounds like they find excuses to put people in the hole, whether they deserve it or not. He wants to avoid it, but he doesn’t know if he can. </p>
<p>Peter doesn’t wanna feel bad for hardened criminals. He absolutely doesn’t want to do that. They need to be locked up for the things they’ve done, but—torture? He doesn’t want to torture anybody. And what he just went through—he guesses some people might consider it tame, but it was psychological. It was physical. It definitely hurt him. </p>
<p>Maybe he’s soft. Maybe he’s already broken.</p>
<p>“They might move you one day, anyway,” the guard says, as they step off the elevator. “Possible they’ll put you where some of the more powerful guys are. We’ll see how it all works out.”</p>
<p>
  <em>There are some we have to literally keep strapped to the walls.</em>
</p>
<p>Peter doesn’t want that to be him. He’d rather fight every day. He doesn’t say anything, he’s afraid of shooting himself in the foot. He just tries to focus, just tries to stay sane. Tries not to let himself freak out.</p>
<p>“Here we go,” the guard says, once they’re in front of Peter’s cell. Peter feels like he’s holding his breath, but then the guard turns him around and unlocks the cuffs, taking them off and hooking them onto his own belt. Peter’s wrists are red raw and swollen, with indents, and he immediately starts trying to rub the feeling back into them. But his relief is big and nearly overwhelming. Maybe now they’ll get to heal a little bit, if they leave him in here for long enough.</p>
<p>The guard pats Peter on the shoulder again and opens the cell, and Peter walks in, nearly collapsing onto the mattress, hardly paying attention when the door closes again. He keeps rubbing his wrists, wincing when he smooths over broken skin, and he separates his arms and stretches them out from side to side. He’s unbelievably grateful to have full range of motion again, despite how much he aches, and he wipes at his eyes when the tears prick up.</p>
<p>Little victories, now. Not being handcuffed.</p>
<p>He barely slept. Was too aware of his own breathing, the tightness in his chest, how he couldn’t move his wrists at all. Dripping. Something skittering. A deep voice somewhere, someone talking to himself. Peter felt like he was melting into the wall at some points, like was fused there at different places other than the cuffs. He felt like he could hear howling. He felt like he could hear the waves, hear the ocean. Angry and vengeful. He knew he could hear his own heart, banging and stuttering, ripping at the seams. His own panic, rearing its ugly head. <em>DON’T LEAVE ME HERE DON’T LEAVE ME DON’T LET ME DIE I CAN’T BREATHE I CAN’T BREATHE PLEASE PLEASE—</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Please please. Please please please.</em>
</p>
<p>“You’re not there anymore,” he whispers, cheek pressed to the mattress. He stops stretching his arms around and rubs his wrists again. He curls in a little bit on himself, and imagines he has his head in May’s lap. Imagines Tony is gripping his shoulder, reassuring him. </p>
<p>The Raft is layers of bad. This, right now, is probably the least bad. So he tries to enjoy it while he can.</p>
<p>He sucks in big breaths. In and out. In and out.</p>
<p>He’s so tired. The ache in his bones is seeping all through him, mixing with his sadness and despair, giving way to poison. </p>
<p>He’s afraid to close his eyes.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>The ground below Peter rumbles with the thud of a hard landing. He hears birds singing, tree branches swaying in the wind. He closes his eyes and finds calm, and he hears strong footsteps. He hears a repulsor powering up.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Get Parker,” the guard’s voice says.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“No,” Peter whispers to himself. He’s inches from safety, he can hear it. He can’t let them get him again. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He opens his eyes and starts to run, but then two steel links fly in from either side, wrapping around his wrists and linking them together. His arms are wrenched above his head and he’s pulled up into the air, into a storm, jagged lightning striking all around him.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He hears an explosion. Another shot fired. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He sees a familiar set of eyes off in the distance, powering to life.</em>
</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter wakes up as they’re opening the door, and he’s struck with the lack of sleep, with the tease of it. He makes sure it’s just the guard disturbing him, and when he sees that it is, he digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. </p>
<p>“Let’s go.”</p>
<p>He wants to beg for another moment. His wrists have healed a little bit, he can tell, but they still hurt, and putting the cuffs on again will only make it worse. He reaches up and runs his fingers over the cut on his head from the first night, and finds only a trace of it left, thankfully. </p>
<p>“Come on, this isn’t a fucking country club. You should have slept last night.”</p>
<p>“The hole isn’t really comfortable,” Peter says, getting to his feet again. “Two stars, at the most.” A rush of panic runs through his chest and he can’t really say shit like that, he knows it, and he glances up and sees the guard let out a little laugh.</p>
<p>“I’ve heard the stories,” he says, beckoning Peter closer. “Glad it’s not me.”</p>
<p>Peter steps out into the hallway and his heart starts beating faster when he sees the guard take the handcuffs off his belt. He hasn’t seen this guy before, and it’s almost always different people talking to him, and he wonders if they’re all carrying around vibranium cuffs for him. He figures other enhanced individuals need them in here, too. But he’s the only one he’s seen walking around restrained.</p>
<p>He wonders if any of the guards have sympathy for him. </p>
<p>“Please,” Peter says, as the door shuts behind him. “It’s—today’s my fourth day, right? I think? I don’t even know, but please, I don’t—I don’t need to wear those. I don’t.”</p>
<p>“Orders,” the guard says. “It’ll be at least a week. Or you want the drugs today? Your choice.”</p>
<p>Peter chews on the inside of his cheek. God knows what the hell would happen to him if he went out there drugged up like he was on the first day. He couldn’t fight back at all. At least he’s got a sliver of a chance in the handcuffs.</p>
<p>He sighs, and holds his wrists out.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the guard laughs, snapping them on again. “That’s what I thought.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter doesn’t see Trish anywhere out there, and he tries to keep to himself, which he knows is a losing fucking battle. He’s a walking target, and part of him almost wants to see someone he knows, someone he put here, for some kind of link to the outside, a thread to the life he had before. At least if he ran into Gargan, he’d understand his fighting style. Even the Rhino would be a sight for sore eyes. Those guys suck, he hates those guys, but he knows them. He’s got a rapport with them. He doesn’t have to learn the way they move like everybody else in here.</p>
<p>The general population area is one large room, just off to the side of the first cell block where Peter’s cell is located, and next to the kitchen and cafeteria. This type of prison shouldn’t even have a general population, and it almost seems like some kind of sick experiment that it exists at all.</p>
<p>And now they’re using it to their advantage, with him here. Everyone is on top of each other, there’s nowhere to hide. He tries to look around, tries to be wary but take stock of the people he’ll be living with for God knows how long. Some of them look at him in disdain, some of them look at him like he doesn’t belong. A bunch of them avoid him all together, whisper behind his back, things he can barely hear. <em>Spider-Man’s a goddamn teenager. And a killer? What the fuck? You believe that shit? </em></p>
<p>Some of the guards look at him the same way. Like they don’t understand how he wound up here—how someone so young, someone who was considered a hero could be convicted of murder and sent to the Raft. But they never approach him. They’re never assigned to him. It’s always certain ones, with the same attitude. He always manages to interact with people that hate him. That want to see him hurt.</p>
<p>He wonders if it’s his own shitty luck, or if someone is pulling strings in here just like they were out there.</p>
<p>A few inmates grab him after twenty minutes go by. Three guys at least twice his size, and they drag him off into a corridor next to the kitchen that’s marked NO INMATES UNLESS OTHERWISE CODED. Peter gets a little jolt on the vest when he’s dragged past the sensor line, and it’s enough to make him black out for a couple seconds.</p>
<p>A couple seconds too long.</p>
<p>They toss him around like a rag doll and they’re laughing, kicking him, breaking ribs with abandon. Peter cries out and manages to focus again when another kick lands, and he headbutts the guy in front of him, making him stagger back. He back-kicks the one coming up behind, and he’s able to grab the first and knock his head against the second’s, so they both drop. </p>
<p>He isn’t paying enough attention to the third, and the man grabs Peter by the throat and lifts him up into the air.</p>
<p>“You’ve got too much fight in you,” he says, sneering. “They said you might.” He’s got tattoos all over his face and he quickly goes blurry as Peter fights for air, grasping at the man’s arm with his cuffed hands. The man drops him after a moment, and Peter slips under his legs, coughing. Peter kicks him but the man grabs his ankle and twists it, and Peter yells out in pain again, seeing stars. </p>
<p>He has a lot of fear, but the anger screams out now, too fucking tired of this, of the betrayal that led him here, of the circus courthouse and not seeing the people he loves. He’s able to spin out of the man’s hold and he kicks him in the face, and he rushes over when he sees one of the others trying to get up, slamming both fists into his nose.</p>
<p>The one he kicked grabs him from behind, two meaty arms around his middle, but Peter wrenches his head forward and slams it back just as hard, hearing a crack. Another one of them grabs him by the hair but Peter reels into the hold, elbowing him hard in the gut. He gets hit in the face once, twice, three times, enough to knock him off balance, but then he slips away and kicks one of them between his legs. The man crumbles and the two that are still standing merge together in Peter’s eyes, his dizziness catching up with him.</p>
<p>He gets another kick off and the man tries to grab his foot again, but he misses and Peter gets him right in the chest. The other yanks him by the handcuffs and his arms feel like they’re on fire, but Peter yanks right back, hitting him with both fists right in the throat.</p>
<p>He’s about to go after the third again, to knock him out, when the vest tightens around his chest. It gets him in a vice grip, agonizingly painful, and then it buzzes to life with electricity. He screams—</p>
<p>—tearing him up, prying his ribs apart—</p>
<p>—peeling his skin off with a hunting knife—</p>
<p>—snap in half, he’s gonna snap in half—</p>
<p>It stops and he collapses to the ground. The vest goes loose again like it usually is and Peter can’t put thoughts together. </p>
<p>His throat is ragged. </p>
<p>He can’t move, eyes glazed and fixed on the ceiling. </p>
<p>He can hear the men laughing, and his mouth tastes like char. </p>
<p>He can’t blink. </p>
<p>He’s still buzzing. </p>
<p>Every breath anguish. </p>
<p>Misery.</p>
<p>“Alright, get the hell out of here.”</p>
<p>“How much info do they want? Shit, seems like the same show over and over to me.”</p>
<p>“Just—get the fuck out of here, you three, or we’ll shock you too. You did your job, good work. Now fuck off.”</p>
<p>Peter tries to process what they’re saying, what the hell they’re talking about, but the words disappear before he can work through them. He’s finally able to blink, once, and he feels the tears track out of the corners of his eyes. The two guards come into view, standing over him. </p>
<p>“Jesus, you did too much.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>They stare at him.</p>
<p>“Great, he’s gonna have to go to the med bay.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t kill him, right?”</p>
<p>One of them bends down and presses two fingers to Peter’s neck. He blinks again, closing his mouth.</p>
<p>“That shouldn’t be possible. No, he’s alive. Alright, Parker, shit, well. That’s what you fucking get for getting yourself into all this mess in here. You’re already a little prick, tricking everybody—”</p>
<p>“Alright, shut up,” the other guard says. </p>
<p>They situate themselves on either side of him and they haul him up to his feet. Peter groans, squeezing his eyes shut tight, because everything hurts and he feels like he’s on fucking fire.</p>
<p>“Should we get a stretcher?” one of them asks, as they start to drag him away.</p>
<p>“Nah,” the other says. “He deserves to suffer, with what he’s done.”</p>
<p>“Fuck, man. So you actually believe—”</p>
<p>“Of course. You know what they told us. Why he’s here. Why all this is happening.”</p>
<p>Peter hangs his head, clenching his fists.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>They drag him all the way to the elevator, and they go up to a high floor, somewhere Peter hasn’t been before. He can hardly hang onto a single thought, but he tries hard to stay cognizant. Every breath is like knives in his side, and they finally get off the elevator and kick open the first door they see.</p>
<p>“What happened?” a familiar voice asks.</p>
<p>“Don’t be asking questions like you have any authority,” one of the guards says. “Just let him rest up in here and maybe give him some drugs, I don’t know. Dawson is on duty if you need him, just press the call button if the kid starts to die. We can’t let him die.”</p>
<p>They heave him onto a bed, draping his legs up there too, and then they uncuff him. Both of his arms fall to the side, but he’s able to breathe a little easier. A little.</p>
<p>“I need you to take the vest off,” the woman says. She walks over and Peter can glance up when she’s close enough, and he sees that it’s Trish again. “That’s clearly the problem here, and we know those things can fuck up if you touch them the wrong way. I know you wouldn’t want anything else to happen.”</p>
<p>Peter closes his eyes. He knows he can’t hold his breath on that one, but it’s nice of her to ask. </p>
<p>He hears them sigh. “Fine, Jesus,” one of them says. “But if something happens, it’s on you. He’s not above killing a woman.”</p>
<p>Peter feels a flash of anger, his brain trying to catch up.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’ll take my chances,” Trish says.</p>
<p>Peter doesn’t open his eyes because he must be fucking dreaming, but he feels them click something on the vest, hears a key rattling, and then they manhandle him and pull the thing off. </p>
<p>Off. It’s off. No vest. No cuffs. He feels like he’s dying and he can still barely move but was it actually <em>worth it?</em></p>
<p>“We’ll log him in for the next twelve hours—”</p>
<p>“He’ll need to stay overnight,” Trish’s voice says.</p>
<p>“Stop snapping back or you’ll be right in here with him.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh. You guys and whoever else did a number on him. He’s been on the defensive since he got here with all the new assholes, and it looks like we’re teetering on the edge. Imagine if Spider-Man died in the Raft after being here for four days. What would that look like to the press? And to the people you report to? You wouldn’t be able to hide it—”</p>
<p>“<em>Christ</em>, Walker, fine. Just treat his wounds and call up the lunch and dinner, stop preaching. We’ll log him til breakfast tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Trish says.</p>
<p>The guards don’t say anything else, and Peter hears them walk away, the door sealing locked behind them.</p>
<p>Trish leans over him, cupping his face in her hands. “Can you see me straight?” she asks.</p>
<p>“I guess,” he croaks, trying to focus on her. He still feels like he’s on fire, like he’s stuck in slow motion, and he literally doesn’t want to move. His thoughts are shreds, fluttering flames in heavy wind. They burn out. “Did they, did they ever do that—do that to—”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she says, moving out of his line of sight. “A couple of times.”</p>
<p>That makes him angry. The anger is clunky and base level in his current state, like he’s a caveman or something, and he doesn’t even really think about the fact that she’s probably in the Raft for a reason. </p>
<p>But still. That doesn’t excuse it.</p>
<p>“Are you a doctor?” he asks. “Why—why are you—”</p>
<p>“Some of us get med bay duty,” she says, and he hears her moving things around and opening cabinets. He closes his eyes because the strain is almost too much. “They give us some training, nothing too serious. I know it’s shit right now but you’ll be alright. They do this, they take things too far. You probably have minor electrical burns.”</p>
<p>“I am an electrical burn,” Peter says, flexing his fingers. </p>
<p>“You’ll be okay,” she says. “You’re strong. And they don’t give them enough voltage to kill people anymore.”</p>
<p>Peter’s brows furrow. “Anymore?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she says, moving a few more things around. He manages to turn his head and look at her, and sees the couple medicine jars and bottles she’s got lined up, along with a box of bandages. “A lot of things happen here that people don’t know about. It was a couple years ago, in the middle of all the bullshit. It’s easier for them when there aren’t any family members on the other side, and I think this guy’s family blipped or whatever they’re calling it. So no one had to be told. I’m sure they would have lied, anyway.”</p>
<p>Peter reaches up, groaning, and covers his face with his hand. He can’t think about that. His fucking head hurts. Everything hurts.</p>
<p>“Doesn’t Tony Stark, like—aren’t you part of his family or something? We heard a lot of different things about how you wound up here, a goddamn teenager, a hero—”</p>
<p>Peter’s chest goes tight and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m—yeah, I’m part of his family. He’s—he—” Peter’s voice breaks.</p>
<p>“We know he’s in a coma,” she says, walking back over to him. “We know that much.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Peter says, blowing out a breath. </p>
<p>“Feel like he would be none too happy to find out about you being in here,” she says. “And even if he’s in a coma, comas aren't forever. I’m sure they’re—aware of the Iron Man threat. So they’re not gonna kill you. Not even by accident. Locking you up is one thing, accusing you of doing—all that. But killing you in prison? Not a good look. Would make it all seem...a lot more obvious. The railroading.”</p>
<p>Peter knows what happened to Tony was bad. It should have killed him. He was dealing with the infinity stones, he took on their power unlike any human had before. As much as Peter wants him to wake up, to save him when he can’t save himself, he knows it’s asking a lot. He knows it’s asking too much. Tony already saved him. Tony literally helped to bring him back from the dead, time traveled, stood up to a titan and nearly died in the process. It’s Peter’s own fault he’s here. For trusting the wrong person. For letting them frame him. </p>
<p>Nobody can help him anymore. </p>
<p>“Here, take the top of your jumpsuit down so I can treat the burns,” Trish says. “Promise I’m not a creep.”</p>
<p>Peter clears his throat and nods. She helps him sit up and he gasps, a strange chill going through him. He feels like he’s in pieces, and he shifts up a bit on the cot with her hands on his shoulders. He never really fought this much as Spider-Man out on patrol, or even on some of the bigger missions. Brutal, nonstop, everyone focused on him. He’s bruise upon bruise, sharp misery and grief weighing him down.</p>
<p>He feels the kind of aching tiredness that comes at the end of your life. And he’s only sixteen.</p>
<p>“You heal faster than most people, right?” she asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, unzipping the front of his jumpsuit and trying to ease it off his shoulders. “Doesn’t feel like it, though.”</p>
<p>“Stress probably doesn’t help,” she says. They ease the top of his jumpsuit down to his waist, and he sees the burns from the vest, dark in harsh criss-crosses on his chest and stomach. Some of the skin is blistering, and Peter winces when Trish starts applying some ointment.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she says. “But even when you’ve got advanced healing, it’s better to get at these kinds of wounds fast.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, wincing again when she keeps on. He can see a bit more of the med bay now that he’s sitting up, now that he’s not actively dying—they look like they’re in a smaller part of it, with only three beds, a lot of cabinets, a few closets. A chart on the wall with a list of names, and a schematic of what looks like the med bay itself and the outer hallways surrounding it. There’s another door at the other end of the room with a barred window, and he can see more beds in there, someone occasionally walking by. </p>
<p>Peter clears his throat, trying to divert his attention from the pain. “You said you, uh—lost your only friend?”</p>
<p>She smiles a little bit, but he can see the bitterness behind it. “You ever heard of Jessica Jones?” she asks. “She was a hero, but didn’t exactly like playing nice with others like you and your super pals.”</p>
<p>“Sounds familiar,” Peter says, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. Every swab of ointment hurts, and he hopes it helps in the long run.</p>
<p>“You ever heard of Daredevil?”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, fast. “I love Daredevil. Never met him, but I—always wanted to.”</p>
<p>“Jess was his friend, sorta...but she was my friend. My sister. She had powers, all that, strong as hell, like you. And I, well—well, I got too—ahead of myself. I didn’t—I didn’t trust the right people, I didn’t—I wasn’t in my right—it was a mess.” She stutters, sucks in a breath, and takes care of the last burn before she steps away and puts the cap back on the ointment. She moves over to the counter and turns her back on him. “I did the wrong thing. In so many different ways. I know that now. I was too stubborn and now I’ll never see her again.”</p>
<p>He stares over at her, and leans back on the cot again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “This place can—really put mistakes in perspective.”</p>
<p>“Ain’t that the truth,” she says. “Too many hours to think. To imagine all the ways you could have done something differently.”</p>
<p>Peter cracks his jaw, and sees all the roads he didn’t take laid out in his mind. They’re clear, unlike everything else.</p>
<p>He would never speak to Beck in the first place.</p>
<p>He’d never go on the trip.</p>
<p>He’d get the gauntlet before Tony did and snap himself.</p>
<p>He wipes the tears from the corner of his eye. “I’m sure she’s—Jessica, I’m sure Jessica is still thinking about you. All the time.” He glances over and sees Trish still just standing there, looking down at her hands. </p>
<p>She finally speaks again a moment later. “This is the best kind of break you’re gonna get, you wanna—you wanna try to sleep? I’m gonna tend to some of your wounds, put some bandages on—you can zip that back up, I’m not gonna cover those up.”</p>
<p>Peter swallows hard, his muscles straining when he starts to put his arms back in the sleeves. </p>
<p>“No handcuffs, no vest, take the time to relax without all that,” she says. “They have better cots in here than in the cells because the guards wind up in here sometimes. Gotta take care of their own.”</p>
<p>Peter zips the jumpsuit back up and nods. “Okay,” he says, trying not to think because it still hurts, every thought like a shock in itself. He knows he shouldn’t trust her, shouldn’t trust anyone, but he does trust her, for some reason. She’s one degree away from Daredevil, supposedly. Maybe he hasn’t learned his lesson at all, but he’s so tired. The mattress is better in here. His arms and legs are like lead balloons. And he’s so, so tired. </p>
<p>“You’ll hear the buzz if anybody comes in here,” she says, walking back over, dragging a tray along with her. “So that’ll wake you up, if that’s what you’re worried about.”</p>
<p>“I’m just gonna rest my eyes,” he says, closing them and laying back down. He needs to be more careful but the pain washes over him like a fog he can get lost in. His head is spinning with all of it, and the memories, and the fear and the shock and the massive loss heavy on his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Just for a second,” he says, feeling her gently start to clean the cut over his eyebrow.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>
  <em>He struggles in the water but he’s chained to two blocks of cement, one on each ankle, and he fights against the current. He’s stronger than this, he’s stronger, and he tries to yank his legs up, reaching, reaching up for the surface.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He’s sinking. He’s sinking.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He opens his mouth in an aborted scream but the water floods in. The pinching, choking feeling is immediate, and his eyes flash as his movements slow. His lungs. Filling up. He tries to yell out again without thinking but more water—more choking, stabbing, slashing—and he’s heavier now. Heavier, weaker, more, more—more more</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>—broken—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He claws at nothing, and it gets </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Darker</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>the further down he goes</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>hurts, hurts, can’t even move his legs now, and they’ll—</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>—they’ll never know he was reaching for them.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His eyes threaten to burst with the pulpy darkness, and he can’t see the light anymore at all—</em>
</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter wakes up to a loud, shrill alarm. He winces when he moves too fast, and when he opens his eyes he watches the lighting go from normal to darkness and red emergency lights. They blink on and off, over and over.</p>
<p>“What’s happening?” he croaks, sitting up, a bandage around his upper arm tightening. “Miss Walker?”</p>
<p>“Miss Walker?” Trish asks, from a chair to his left, closer to the door. “Trish. No Miss. And I’ve got no idea, it just started going off a second ago.”</p>
<p>The alarm blares again. Peter pushes himself up further and gently swings his legs over the side of the cot, wincing at the heavy red covering everything in panicked flashes. Trish gets up and walks over to the door, but she startles when a guard shows up outside, quickly blacking out the window on the door. Peter can hear the lock rattling and a few more mechanisms being set in place, reinforcing the lock. Trish glances at Peter and he narrows his eyes, his heart beating a little faster. </p>
<p>“Have you ever seen this happen before?” he asks. </p>
<p>She hums, stepping back from the door a bit, crossing her arms over her chest. “No,” she says. Then she clicks her tongue, walking around to the other side of his bed. “Well, when the blip happened it was—chaos, there were alarms because inmates were escaping, but no blaring red lights like this.”</p>
<p>The alarm screams out again, and it doesn’t stop this time, rattling off the same high pitched noise incessantly. Peter feels strange just sitting here, like they’re in the middle of a situation and he’s not helping, he’s not protecting—but he’s gotta rewire his brain now that he’s here. This isn’t about him anymore. They don’t want his help, and whatever it is, they probably don’t need it. </p>
<p>“It’s probably just an escape,” Trish says, leaning back against the counter. She nods to herself. “Or an attempted one. Maybe they upgraded their systems since the blip.”</p>
<p>Peter nods too, swallowing hard. The alarm is starting to get to him, and he hopes they find whoever the hell it is fast so they can get back to the silence. He can barely see the features on Trish’s face with the red flashing, and he closes his eyes tight. His senses have been close to overwhelmed since he got here, since the drugs and the transport over, and he feels like they’re about to overload if this continues on for too long. </p>
<p>He’s got a strange feeling. He’s not <em>afraid</em>, really—he doesn’t like the alarms or the lights, but there’s something different in his gut, prickling at the back of his neck. Just a feeling, just—he doesn’t know what it is. It’s not like the normal sense he gets, when he’s fighting. It doesn’t feel like danger oncoming. He doesn’t know. He can’t quite place it, and it’s clouding his head more than it was already clouded. </p>
<p>He sucks in a couple deep breaths. His chest feels tight, like he’s strapped down to something.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you lay back down?” Trish asks. “I know you probably can’t sleep with that fucking noise, but maybe if you close your eyes—”</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” he says, reaching up and touching the small array of bandages on his forehead. “I just wonder what they’ll—”</p>
<p>It feels like the whole damn place moves. Shuddering with some kind of blast, and Peter jumps down off the cot with the need to <em>do something</em>, because something’s happening. Something is obviously happening. He moves over closer to Trish, and he can barely keep his footing, his legs half jelly and ready to buckle.</p>
<p>There’s another blast, and it feels seismic, like something coming from deep within the earth. Peter doesn’t know much about the Raft’s location or foundations, but it feels like it’s literally being ripped apart.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Trish says, a hand on Peter’s arm. “That’s, there’s—”</p>
<p>Another blast. Two, three. Peter hears screaming. It sounds far away, and he might be hearing it through the vents, might just be letting his senses take over, because Trish doesn’t seem to hear yet, her eyes darting around warily. But Peter hears it all and the screams become multitudes, shrill and afraid.</p>
<p>Gunfire. </p>
<p>“The big guys,” Peter says, as the sounds get louder, get closer. Another blast, and he swallows hard. “The ones that—that are locked up here, that are more powerful, can they—can they escape?”</p>
<p>Trish scoffs, and he can hear her heart beating. The alarm and the lights and the screaming and the gunshots and blast after blast after blast. The whole place sounds like a war zone. It shudders like one, too. “Probably,” she says. “Like I said before, this place—impossible becomes possible.”</p>
<p>There’s a slam on the other door that leads to the rest of the med bay, then another one, and Peter hears things falling over, hears shots. There’s more chaos out in the main hallway and it carries, and he hears automatic weapons working on overtime to combat whatever it is. </p>
<p>Peter feels itchy. All of him still hurts, but shouldn’t he help? Shouldn’t he do something? Just because they claim he’s not a hero anymore doesn’t mean he’s not one. </p>
<p>“Stop,” Trish says, hardly audible now over all the noise, all around them, the alarm wailing. She must see the look on his face. “Stop, if it’s one of those guys the guards deserve everything they get—”</p>
<p>There’s a slam on the outside door again, and more screaming.</p>
<p>“Get in the closet,” Peter says, looking at her.</p>
<p>She widens her eyes at him. “You’re the teenager, you get in the closet. Don’t forget I have powers too—”</p>
<p>“Please,” he says, ushering her over, and she scoffs at him, shaking her head. She brushes him off, and somehow, looks disappointed in him.</p>
<p>“I’ll do it. Not because you say so, but because I don’t wanna die or get shot in what they’ll call an unfortunate accident. But Peter, if you go out there, you’re not gonna—”</p>
<p>He opens the closet door. “I just wanna see,” he says. “Please, I’ll be right back, and I’ll get in there with—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” she says, not even looking at him and moving inside the closet. “It was nice knowing you.”</p>
<p>“It’ll be fine,” he says, as she pulls the door closed. He wishes he could lock it. He can feel her anger but it’s mixed up in everything else he can feel, all over here, and it’s like there’s a separate alarm going off in his head, and with every scream and gunshot outside he feels like he’s waited too long. </p>
<p>But before he can make a move, the door to the other part of the med bay is broken in. It falls flat, unceremoniously, and Peter’s first thoughts are of Trish. He doesn’t want her to come out and try to help, he doesn’t want her to try and protect him, he doesn’t—</p>
<p>He stops thinking. </p>
<p>The whole world turns liquid and slow, and he feels like he’s sinking face first into warm sand. All the sound drains away until there’s only a high-pitched noise in his ears. It doesn’t hurt.</p>
<p>Peter is positive he’s dreaming.</p>
<p>A large Iron Man suit morphs and ducks in through the newly-open doorway, and it nearly reaches the ceiling, it’s so tall. It keeps changing shape, the armor retracting in on itself and moving fluidly, and it looks clunky and sleek all at once.</p>
<p>Peter’s going insane. He’s going insane. This is it, his psychotic break, and he stands there like a moron and is instantly transported back to Berlin. Where Beck made him see those things, those terrible fucking things, taunting him with the idea that Tony could have died and he probably would still die and that it was all Peter’s fault.</p>
<p>Is this real? Or is this Beck? Is he here? Is <em>all of this</em> him?</p>
<p>Peter feels like he’s in the tulip field again, questioning Happy. He’s frozen, his panic locking up his limbs—</p>
<p>But then the suit opens, and Tony steps out. </p>
<p>Peter’s breath catches in his throat.</p>
<p>He knows it’s really him. He doesn’t know why he knows, but he knows. Maybe because they’re connected by some cosmic force after what Tony did in Peter’s name, moving the fabric of time with his own hands in order to get him back. But Peter knows, surefire, the second he sets eyes on him. </p>
<p>Both of them stand still, staring.</p>
<p>Tony has a messy beard now, just like he did the last time Peter saw him, and he’s skinnier from the coma. He’s in some kind of combat gear like he was preparing to fight outside the suit, and the healing pod he had on in the facility is molded to his right arm now, pulsing and moving like gelatin. </p>
<p>Even though Peter knows, even though he’s not afraid, he stands there and he can’t move. Everything hits him all at once, in a great swell that makes him gasp for breath.</p>
<p>This is all he wanted. This is all he wanted. But it’s impossible, it’s—how is Tony awake? How is he <em>standing</em>? Why is he here? Why is he here?</p>
<p>Maybe Peter’s dead. Maybe they both are.</p>
<p>He can vaguely hear the chaos still going on all around them, muffled through his own insanity and dreamlike state, and they both take a step towards each other. Tony’s face is streaked with concern, brows furrowed severely as he clearly takes stock of all the wounds Peter has that are visible right now. His eyes are worried, full of compassion and kindness. Something Peter hasn’t seen in forever. Someone who knows him, someone who’s family, in front of him, anxious on his behalf. Someone putting him first. </p>
<p>Peter tries to say something, but only a sob comes out, and twin tears race down his face. </p>
<p>“Pete,” Tony rasps, and he doesn’t let Peter take one more step before he’s closing the distance between them and wrapping him up in his arms. Peter’s shock is taking precedence and he’s still frozen for a second, shaking.</p>
<p>He’s here. He’s...he’s actually here. How is he here? How?</p>
<p>Tony holds him gently, like he’s something precious, and Peter finally reaches up and clings onto him. Loose at first and then more firmly, more desperately, because it feels like he might turn into a wisp of smoke any second, leaving Peter here alone again. Tony tightens his hold, practically cradling him.</p>
<p>“I’ve got you,” Tony whispers, kissing Peter’s head. He rubs his back and holds him tight, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ve got you.”</p>
<p>“Oh my God,” Peter breathes, still unable to comprehend, unable to understand.</p>
<p>Tony holds on for a few more long moments, and then he pulls back and cups Peter’s face in his hands. He looks him over, concerned again, but there’s so much relief there, too. Relief, concern, anger, love. Peter can tell he has a lot he wants to say, but he watches him swallow it down. “We’ve gotta go,” he says, brushing his thumb across one of the bandages on Peter’s cheek. “Got a tight schedule, very specific plan. I’m getting you the hell out of here.”</p>
<p>Peter blinks, and then he can hear all the chaos again, all around them. He has no idea what’s going on, who else is here, how the hell this is happening. He sees Tony glance up and Peter follows his line of sight. Trish is standing half in, half out of the closet, staring at them.</p>
<p>“She’s good,” Peter says. He actually has no real idea what she did to be in here. “Well. Good to me. She knows—she knows Daredevil. Kinda. By association.” He feels insane.  </p>
<p>“You wanna escape, now’s the time,” Tony says to Trish, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder. “The air vents are the way to go if you don’t wanna be seen.”</p>
<p>Trish just stares at them, nodding stiffly.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Peter says, unsure of what’s even happening here. “Thank you for—for helping me.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she says, blinking at them.</p>
<p>Peter turns to Tony again, shocked that he’s still there. That this is still happening. “How are—how—”</p>
<p>“No questions right now, bud,” Tony says, looking at him with all kinds of fondness. He walks him over to the suit, and he grabs something from the inside compartment. “Here,” he says. It’s his nano housing unit. “I couldn’t get any of your suits. But this is probably safer.” He gently presses the unit to Peter’s chest, and the nanos immediately start forming around him. After a moment he’s completely encased in an Iron Man suit, and the heads up display starts listing out protocols and messages.</p>
<p>Tony stares at him for another few seconds, and Peter still can’t fathom the idea that he’s not dreaming. “We’ve got house party protocol going on out there. Thirty-seven reinforced suits wreaking havoc, and the med bay is top most other than their own goddamn offices and living quarters. We’re in a good position to push through with a lot of support and minimal opposition. You okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m…” Peter trails off. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he is. He’s gotta be dreaming. This can’t actually be real. It’s not Beck, it’s not an illusion, but it’s...it’s too good to be true.</p>
<p>“As good as you can be?” Tony asks, softly.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Peter whispers. “It’s just—it’s so good to—so good to see you.”</p>
<p>“You too, Pete,” Tony says. “I wasn’t gonna stop, I…” He trails off now, too, looking down briefly before meeting Peter’s eyes again. “Stick with me,” Tony says. “I’ve got protocols to link you to me unless I’m in immediate danger, then you’ll break away and keep going on the route out. Friday’s in complete control, okay? You don’t have to do anything. I’m getting you out.”</p>
<p>Peter feels more blasts and he realizes now that it’s the suits, doing that. </p>
<p>Tony literally stormed the castle. All on his own.</p>
<p>Peter feels dizzy and tries to stay in control. The pain is still sharp in places but his shock is like a strange buffer, a foam wall all around him. There are more gunshots outside in the main hallway and Peter doesn’t know what the hell they think guns will do to the empty suits, but maybe they don’t know there’s nobody in there. Tony steps back inside the big suit, and it closes around him. </p>
<p>“You ready, bud?” Tony asks, in Peter’s ears now, communicating through the coms in the suit.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Peter says, in a rush of breath.</p>
<p>“Let’s go,” Tony says, and he grabs onto Peter’s hand. Peter looks behind him to see if Trish is still there, but before he knows it Tony is blasting a hole in the ceiling, and the two of them take off through it. </p>
<p>They’re on the upper levels now. It’s roomier, groups of desks, like a large, expensive office, and it’s fucking chaos. There are men in suits running, guards shooting, suits flying around and creating blockades. Fires and smoke, bullets ricocheting. Peter didn’t even know there was an area like this but he should have known better, because as Tony flies them through he sees camera screens of different parts of the Raft, control panels—some of them are smoldering, and it looks like a few have been destroyed purposefully, some others left intact. </p>
<p>Tony knew what he was doing. </p>
<p>He weaves around, flies them into another long, steel hallway, and they slam right through a group of guards scrambling, all holding larger guns. They fire but it’s too late, and Peter turns to see the explosions take down one of the inner walls. It groans, falling in on itself.</p>
<p>“EMP WARNING,” Friday’s voice says.</p>
<p>“Got it,” Tony says. He changes his flightpath, destroys another wall with a couple big repulsor blasts. They burst into a big open space, where there are boats docked and vehicles stored. There are big, wooden boxes stacked high, and there’s hardly any light in here. Friday turns on night vision, and Peter sees a group of guards clamoring far below them. </p>
<p>Something fires at them but it whizzes right past, exploding in a firework of orange light, and Peter winces. The building wails with all the abuse it’s taking, and the alarms are still going off, over and over and over. The red lights blare everywhere. </p>
<p>All this, over Tony. All this, about <em>him.</em></p>
<p>“One more,” Tony says, steering them towards the corner of the big warehouse room. “Weakness same as we planned?”</p>
<p>“Yes, boss,” Friday says, and Peter can hear it too. </p>
<p>“Repulsor on 150,” Tony says, aiming with his free hand. “Rockets red glare.” He fires and there’s another big blast, and when the smoke clears Peter is barely able to see a jagged hole in the corner now. Tony tugs Peter in closer to him as they shoot right through it. </p>
<p>They’re out in open air now, and Peter glances over his shoulder and sees the helicopter landing pads, the raging sea all around the Raft itself, which is on fire in a few places. There are little groups of guards on the roof, some of them braced on long range weapons, and they’re shooting rapidly.</p>
<p>“Evasive maneuvers,” Tony says, and he pulls Peter in even closer, an arm around his back. They both spin and avoid any of the projectiles, which sail off into the distance. Peter looks back again and sees at least six suits swarming out of the lower levels of the Raft itself, firing back at the guards and putting up barriers.</p>
<p>They get smaller and smaller as he and Tony fly away. </p>
<p>“Fri,” Tony says. “Go stealth. Keep the hoard there for the next hour, and then split up all the pieces and send them to the locations we discussed.”</p>
<p>Peter stares back, watching the red lights, billowing smoke and fiery explosions disappear into the mist. The sky is stormy and Friday warns of the weather, but Peter’s sure they’ve for it. He turns and stares straight ahead, and doesn’t look back.</p>
<p>He’s out. He’s out. Just like that. He can barely play back the moments and it feels like video games, it feels like daydreams, it feels like the firings of a dying mind. But it’s not. It’s not. It’s happening. Tony actually came. He actually got him. </p>
<p>This has to be real, it has to be. </p>
<p>“You okay?” Tony asks. “Pete?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Peter says, voice breaking. “Yeah.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got you,” Tony says, as they fly into the oncoming night. “I’ve got you, kid. You’re with me now. I’m gonna get you to safety, okay? Then we’ll figure this out. This is one fucked up situation and it’s gonna be a pain in the ass, but we’re gonna get through it. I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna fix it, I promise.”</p>
<p>Peter’s heart is ready to burst, too much pain and too many emotions stirring around in his head. </p>
<p>He stares up at Tony and remembers the first time he saw Iron Man. Seven years old, watching the news with stars in his eyes. Watching Tony Stark own that title even though they were clearly trying to take it away from him. Every day, from that moment on, Iron Man was his hero.</p>
<p>“Pete,” Tony says. “Talk to me, you sure you’re alright?”</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” Peter says, completely and totally overwhelmed. “I’m okay now.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. real, real, safe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony feels like they fly forever. </p>
<p>Friday has the course set for the first safe house, seven different backups in place just in case something goes wrong—but their path is clear, for now. He wonders if there’s something wrong with him mentally, considering the fact that he’s made himself a criminal and it doesn’t bother him one bit. Maybe because the definition of criminal has been changed since he woke up, considering they branded Peter a criminal and he’s the exact, precise opposite. So what they say doesn’t matter. He can work on it now and know Peter is safe, too. </p>
<p>Sure. They’re on the run. Sure. That’s fine. Peter’s safe. He’s not in that place anymore. That’s all that fucking matters to Tony right now. </p>
<p>He wonders if this is how Steve and the others felt after all the shit with the accords, when they had to disappear. The sting of Steve’s newfound absence still weighs heavy, and Tony decides not to think about that right now. </p>
<p>His focus is Peter. Tony did this, he went through with it when they were literally trying to bar his exit from the facility. When they were begging him not to do it. When they were looking at him like they’d never see him again, ripping his heart clean in half. But he carried it out, he succeeded, and now he’s gotta work on this from the wrong side of the law. </p>
<p>There was no alternative. Not with Peter locked up in that hell hole. And the fact that he found him in the goddamn med bay speaks volumes. Tony was only able to take stock of a few of Peter’s wounds in the short amount of time they had before they flew out of there, but he knows there’s more. </p>
<p>It boils his blood.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think of all the alerts Friday keeps throwing up about his own condition. He won’t think about himself until he has to. Well, maybe before that, so he doesn’t completely crash on his kid. That’s the last fucking thing Peter needs right now.</p>
<p>They’re about ten minutes out, still in stealth mode, deep in Ashland, Oregon. None of the safe houses are in Tony’s name, but he knows they can’t stay in one place for too long despite being hidden. People still notice shit. And he looks wild right now, but he’s still recognizable. Peter too, unfortunately. Just what Tony never wanted.</p>
<p>He holds onto him tight, and he’s glad they’ve got the cover of night to go along with stealth. Tony has to play this the right way. He can’t let them get Peter again. </p>
<p>“Pete, you okay?” Tony asks, ignoring his own brief bout of dizziness. “We’re close, we’re really close.”</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” Peter says, and that’s basically all he’s said this whole trip. He doesn’t blame him, but it doesn’t do wonders for Tony’s frame of mind. </p>
<p>They make their descent, and the cabin is nestled in a little area full of trees, miles from another house. Friday scans the location and gives him the green light, and Tony lands them both as easily as he can inside the back fence.</p>
<p>The grass is overgrown and nearly reaches their knees, and Tony’s suit morphs until it’s much smaller, and then it lets him out. The nanosuit Peter’s wearing retreats back into the housing unit, and Tony reaches out and steadies him. </p>
<p>Peter grabs onto the housing unit, and leans into Tony’s space. “We gotta—get inside—”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Tony says, feeling another flash of dizziness. “This place is masked, bud—”</p>
<p>“Okay, still, let’s—can we—”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Tony says, eager to get him under cover, too. He looks behind him and he reaches inside the suit, grabbing the ring of all the goddamn keys he put aside when he set off to do this. He doesn’t have scanners on the safe houses to get inside, because he figures that would tip people off a little too easily, but he’s got some tech at his disposal inside.</p>
<p>The suit morphs down once he grabs the keys, forming a small square just like he coded it to, and he scoops it up, taking the housing unit from Peter, too. Tony’s own legs feel like they’re ready to collapse, but the adrenaline beats through his blood and keeps him going. He opens the door, gently leading Peter inside. </p>
<p>“Fri,” Tony says, tapping the ear piece. “Keep the house shrouded, any activity incognito, and activate your screens but nothing trackable. We’ve got a lot of shit to do.”</p>
<p>“<em>Activating sequence initiated, at twenty five percent for mambo number five.</em>”</p>
<p>Tony scoffs. He’d forgotten he’d given all of these safe houses different names. He glances over his shoulder in the darkness and makes sure the door is locked, and then he feels around for the light on the wall. He flips it on, hanging up the key ring.</p>
<p>Peter is still just standing there, almost like he’s in shock, and Tony wraps an arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, bud.” He doesn’t know what the hell to say, and he leads him through the hallway and into the living room, trying to remember how this place is laid out.</p>
<p>He put the safe house protocol into effect after all the Mandarin shit, so if he or anybody else he cared about was in a similar position, they’d have somewhere to go—as opposed to breaking into a kid’s garage in Tennessee. Each place is varying degrees of nice, because he didn’t want to be too obvious just in case they were compromised, and they’re all set apart from people so there would be privacy. He made sure they were stocked up with medical supplies, and once Peter became part of his inner circle, he stored clothes for the kid in all of them, along with things for Pepper, Rhodey and Happy. </p>
<p>Tony remembers Happy’s report, a couple years ago, when they were checking up on the locations. He knew Peter’s clothes were there, even though Peter wasn’t in the world anymore.</p>
<p>But he’s back now.</p>
<p>He’s back, and in trouble. </p>
<p>This safe house is a small, two story cabin, rustic and old, homey, the kind of place that makes you feel like never going back to civilization. It reminds Tony of his own cabin in the woods, but he knows he used that to hide, too. It’s a sense of deep shame that he hasn’t quite acknowledged out loud yet, and he’s not fucking ready to do it now.</p>
<p>Tony flips on the lights in the living room and sees a fine sheen of dust over everything, some of it hanging in the air. He doesn’t know when the hell their people last came by here, he’s been out of commission for months now and he doesn’t think this was first on anybody’s list. But he walks Peter over to the couch anyways, and sits down with him. He puts down the two suit pieces on the coffee table.</p>
<p>There’s a lost moment, where Tony doesn’t know what the hell to do. He’s got plans to fix this, the big part of this, the legal shit and the illegal shit, but fixing what they did to Peter? The damage they inflicted, emotional and physical? Tony loves him beyond all comprehension, but he doesn’t know if he’s the right person for all this. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough, if he’s worthy of it.</p>
<p>But he has to be. He’s all the kid has, right now. He has to be better than he is, for Peter. </p>
<p>The silence is loud, the ceiling fan creaking softly.</p>
<p>“Okay, Pete,” Tony says, dipping his head down a little. Peter is just staring at the ground, breathing hard, and he’s still in their goddamn jumpsuit, and he’s hurt and he’s scared and Tony has to be fucking better, dammit. </p>
<p>His body is crying out like it’s failing, but the adrenaline is still sustaining him. </p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulder. “Okay. We’re gonna take a breather, I wanna—Jesus, we need to talk, I need to take a look at you—just gimme a second, okay, I’m gonna go get some med kits—”</p>
<p>Tony starts to move but Peter immediately grabs his arm. He’s trembling, and it’s only in that moment that Tony notices how much. He’s got raw, red rings around his wrists and there are cuts and bruises in varying degrees of healing down his arm. Tony feels harsh flares of anger, but his heart sinks when he meets Peter’s gaze.</p>
<p>“I, I—” Peter stammers, holding onto Tony like a lifeline. “I, is—it’s—I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this, all this, I can’t—”</p>
<p>“Believe it,” Tony says, reaching out with his free hand and covering Peter’s own. “You’re safe now, they don’t have you, you’re with me—”</p>
<p>“You were—you were in a coma,” Peter says, turning towards him and clutching at both of his hands now. “You were, and then all that, and then, and then—” He sucks in a breath like he’s choking on his own words, getting ahead of himself, and his eyes are darting all over the place, filling with tears. “And there, I—they, they—”</p>
<p>“Relax,” Tony whispers, brushing his thumb over the back of Peter’s hand. “Relax, relax. Hey, c’mere. Relax, breathe, c’mere. I’ve got you.”</p>
<p>“Tony,” Peter sobs, shaking his head. He scoots forward before Tony can move much and hugs him, shaking so hard that Tony’s worried he’s gonna pass out.</p>
<p>“Breathe,” Tony says, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him. “We’re safe, okay? We’re safe. They’re not gonna find us here. They call you a criminal, Pete, I’ll be one right alongside you until we set this shit right again. You’re not gonna be alone, not again. Not there. Not anywhere. Okay? Breathe, kid, it’s okay. I’m awake now.” Tony holds him tighter. “I’m awake now, you’re safe. You’re not there anymore, it’s alright.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Peter breathes, turning his face into Tony’s shoulder. “Sorry, sorry.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Tony says, his throat going tight, tearing up. “I—I’m so sorry I was—so fucking late.”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Peter hiccups. He’s still shaking wildly, and Tony tries to calm him.</p>
<p>“Breathe, breathe,” Tony says. “Relax, in and out. We’ll talk in a second, alright? Breathe like me, slow, steady—well, I’m—breathe like a normal person. Here, let’s—let’s try.” He pulls back, keeping his hands on Peter’s shoulders. He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes. His own panic is scraping away at him, but he still doesn’t pay attention. “In and out. Breathe easy. Big breath, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Peter gasps, gripping Tony’s arms. “Okay, I—okay, I can—”</p>
<p>“We got this, we got this—”</p>
<p>They sit there like that and Tony listens as Peter slowly, surely calms down. It takes a while but Tony would sit here until the end of time if that’s what he needed, and his own body feels like fucking mush, bursting at the seams.</p>
<p>Peter, Peter. Peter is the focus.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Peter says, shoulders finally slumping with some kind of relief. He rests his head on Tony’s shoulder, softly, tentatively, like he’s afraid of opening up but eager to all the same. “Okay, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“No apologies, c’mon,” Tony says, gripping the back of his neck. “We’ve got—Pete, you’ve been going through absolute hell on earth since this shit started, not counting the last four days in which you were locked up, unjustifiably, in that fucking place. There’s no normal for this, whatever you’re feeling is the right thing. Alright?”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Peter says, still breathing methodically. “I, uh—are you—are you okay?” He pulls back, looking at him intently. “Are you—God, you just woke up, are you—alright?”</p>
<p>Of course that’s the first thing Peter Parker asks, after a prison break and a panic attack. Of course, that’s where his mind goes. Tony doesn’t even wanna answer him, considering what the hell Peter’s gone through, what he’s endured, from being lost for five years to coming back in the middle of some ass-backwards battle, from dealing with Tony being in a coma to all the Beck betrayal and identity reveal and fucking <em>prison sentence—</em></p>
<p>Tony shakes his head. He feels like he’s falling headlong into a crash, but he doesn’t want to tell Peter that, doesn’t want to worry him. Peter is never his own priority.</p>
<p>“Okay, uh, I’m gonna answer that question and we’re gonna talk, alright? Lemme go get the medical supplies out of the bathroom so we can take care of everything going on, I, uh, have some of the good stuff from back when we figured out how to put you out—”</p>
<p>“No drugs,” Peter says, fast. He blinks at himself, like he didn’t expect to be that loud, and his face goes red. “I just—I’m okay.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says, gently. He squeezes Peter’s arm and gets up, a good amount of dizziness following him. </p>
<p>Peter gets up too, breathing harder. </p>
<p>Tony looks at him and tries not to seem surprised, because he understands that feeling. It was hard to let Rhodey out of his sights after Afghanistan, or Pepper either, because he didn’t think he’d ever see her again. Even looking at Peter now, he’s afraid to take his eyes off him, like he might disappear if he looks away for too long.</p>
<p>“Right over here,” he says, encouraging Peter to follow, because he clearly doesn’t want to be left alone. “Right off the dining room in the hall.” He heads that way, legs threatening to buckle, and Peter trails behind him, still with that strange look of disbelief and horror. “Both bedrooms are upstairs, I figure we’ll patch up, eat and sleep before we start doing any real work.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, and looks at him like he doesn’t think Tony’s real. </p>
<p>Tony looks at him the exact same way.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter tells him everything.</p>
<p>Tony sits there and cleans his cuts, wraps his wrists, redoes the bandages on the wounds on his arms, legs and face while Peter talks. Talks about everything from the moment they dragged Tony off the battlefield to the seconds before he broke into the med bay. </p>
<p>Tony can’t describe what hearing all this is doing to him. He felt like a failure before but now he feels like he needs to be taken out back and shot. All that time, trying to protect Peter, but he wasn’t able to spare him from this. A living fucking hell, and Beck was trying to get at Tony for his own perceived slight and took it out on Peter. </p>
<p>And then all this other shit. The way the guards were acting. How hard they were going at him. They were gathering information for something. It was all orchestrated. </p>
<p>But why? What the hell is going on here? What’s Beck’s goddamn plan, what’s he getting at? It couldn’t have been for nothing. Couldn’t have just been revenge.</p>
<p>He feels overwhelmed, with the news of what Peter dealt with, like a couple tons of cement is bearing down on him. </p>
<p>“How are the burns?” Tony says, voice breaking. He sighs. “From the—goddamn vest.”</p>
<p>“Do you have sweats here for me?” Peter asks, picking at the wrapping on his left wrist. “Or pajamas?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “I’ve got some upstairs in the room that’s gonna be yours while we’re here.”</p>
<p>Peter blows out a breath, nodding, and he gets up, pulling the top of his jumpsuit down until the sleeves hang limp at his waist. </p>
<p>Tony’s breath goes sharp. He can tell where that woman tried to treat the burns, but they’re still visible, blistered and blotchy in harsh crosshatch. The skin is still charred, some of it red and bubbling up.</p>
<p>“They look okay,” Peter says, dabbing at one tentatively. “Miss Trish had—seen the burns before, because, well—they shocked her and other people she’d helped in the med bay.”</p>
<p>Tony let that happen. To Peter. To his kid.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Pete,” Tony says, closing his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, God, I’m so fucking sorry.”</p>
<p>He can hear Peter start to pull the jumpsuit back up. “It’s okay—”</p>
<p>“It’s not okay,” Tony says, swallowing hard. “None of it is okay, none of it, goddamnit—”</p>
<p>Peter sighs, cutting him off.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, kid,” Tony says, quieter now. “Jesus, for everything. All of it.”</p>
<p>“It’s not your fault at all,” Peter says. “At all. <em>At all</em>. You got me out, you saved me, and Tony, you haven’t—you haven’t even told me how you are.” He sits back down next to him, and Tony shakes his head.</p>
<p>He knows he pushed it too far. Everything, what he was capable of. The adrenaline is wearing off, despite how fast his heart is still beating with every inch of his despair, and he feels like a decaying slab of meat. Useless, worthless. Close to what he was hours after he woke up. He’s inches from a complete shutdown, and he’s got a few more elixir tablets in his pocket. He doesn’t know how much is too much or not enough, or if a night of sleep will help him.</p>
<p>He feels like he’s had too much sleep.</p>
<p>“I was in a coma, and Pepper finally spilled the beans that you were in that fucking hell hole, and Pete, I literally tore my own mind apart to wake up for you,” Tony says, meeting his eyes again. “This was yesterday. None of what’s going on with me matters. I rallied, because I had to, because there was no way I was laying there for a second longer while that was happening to you. I’m okay. I’m getting better. You’re the reason why I’m awake.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asks, still teary-eyed. “Because you gotta—Tony, after what you did, we’re—we’re in this together—”</p>
<p>“Peter, you’re the priority—”</p>
<p>“We’re both on the run now, like you said,” Peter says. “Both of us. You have to—you have to be safe too, okay too—”</p>
<p>Tony sighs. “I’ll let you know what’s going on with me as long as you do the same,” he says. “And trust me, I’ll tell you, because I’m not worth anything to you in the condition I was in when I woke up. I feel—I’ve got some elixir left from Danvers, hopefully if I take what I’ve got left it’ll—last, keep me going.”</p>
<p>Peter stares at him, and Tony hates seeing him so hurt like this. He hopes his healing kicks in and speeds up, because physical pain on top of everything else isn’t fucking right. But none of this is right. It’s hard to wrap his mind around it.</p>
<p>“I hope my goddamn suits did some damage to all those assholes who did this,” Tony says, shaking his head at him. He thinks about everything Peter just told him. The constant attacks, the handcuffs, the drugs. No wonder Peter didn’t want anything for the pain. And the fucking isolation hole? Chained to the wall all goddamn fucking night? Tony feels sick. “If I’d known the full fucking extent—”</p>
<p>“They didn’t care,” Peter says, looking down at his hands in his lap, “about me, how old I was, whether it was—true or not.”</p>
<p>Tony grits his teeth. “Beck set this up, somehow,” he says. “The whole thing. It’s bigger than we think.”</p>
<p>“But why?” Peter asks, and he sounds so desperate that it’s ripping Tony’s heart in two.</p>
<p>“Because he’s a prick with a grudge,” Tony says. “Because he somehow managed to get powerful people on his side. There’s gotta be something else, God, I don’t know what it is. But it doesn’t matter. None of it is real, and that’s the fucking fault in his plan. It’s not real, you’re not who he says you are, and his ass is out there somewhere. We’re gonna find him, we’re gonna figure this thing out. We’re gonna fix it together.” He catches sight of the clock—it’s almost nine at night. Somehow, this day has felt fucking decades long.</p>
<p>“I just, uh, wanna say thank you,” Peter says, breath hitching. “You—everything you did, and now you can’t—now you can’t go home—”</p>
<p>“Home isn’t a place,” Tony says, stopping him. “Okay? It’s your family. It’s your people. And that’s you. You and me. We’re gonna eat, we’re gonna rest, and then we’re gonna work on this. We’re gonna work on it until it’s like it never fucking happened, and you’re on the couch with me and Mo, introducing her to Star Wars. You guys didn’t do that yet, right?”</p>
<p>Peter smiles for the first time since Tony got him back.</p>
<p>“Not yet,” he says.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says, patting his knee. “Then that’s the first thing we’re gonna do.” He looks at Peter, the dried blood and the dirt and the grime all over him, and his heart twists again. “You wanna shower?” Tony asks. “I’ve got some non-perishable food here, can whip up something you’d like. Hopefully. The shower’s big and nice upstairs. I always figured, if I had to crash here, that I’d be a damn mess from whatever the hell I’d gotten myself into.”</p>
<p>Peter blows out a breath, staring down at his hands again. “Yeah, I haven’t—the last time I showered was the night before—the sentencing.”</p>
<p>Tony’s throat burns with his failure, and he tries to stay steady. “C’mon, Webs,” he says, getting to his feet. He grits his teeth but powers through the pain surging through him. “I’ll set you up, get some clothes laid out, and then I’ll come down and make dinner.”</p>
<p>“The house is safe?” Peter asks, looking up at him.</p>
<p>“It’s safe,” Tony says. “I’ve got a ton of protocols in place. They’re looking for us, but they’re not gonna find us here. I sent out a couple false flags that they could consider trails, so—they’re gonna be running around lost. We’ve got some time before we need to move. Got a really ridiculous, nondescript car too, for when we have to. Nobody would ever think Tony Stark would be driving a Volvo.”</p>
<p>Peter smiles again, which feels like a win. </p>
<p>“Do you think, uh—I know that they’re probably tapping her phone, keeping an eye on her, but can I—you think there’s a way I can call May? Talk to her somehow?”</p>
<p>Tony swallows hard, nodding without thinking about it. After the show he just put on, he wants to talk to Pepper and Morgan, too. But he knows they’re probably surrounded, and he needs to keep them away from this. He can’t let them get drawn into the story. He did it without their permission. They’re not a part of it. Neither is May.</p>
<p>“I, uh—I know it’s important,” Tony says, “that you talk to her. So I’m gonna figure out a way, okay? Probably not something traditional, but I’m gonna...figure it out.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, glancing away.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter has never been in a cabin in the woods. </p>
<p>That makes it sound like a horror movie, which it isn’t. After the Raft, this place feels like a five star hotel, and the fact that Tony is here with him tips it all over the edge into one of the best places he’s ever been, despite the circumstances. He keeps looking at him like he isn’t real. When he walks him up the stairs, when he goes through the dresser in the second bedroom and pulls out clothes that were clearly meant for Peter. When he hugs him again, more gently this time, probably because he knows the extent of the electrical burns.</p>
<p>He promises to redo all the bandages but tells Peter to get in the shower with them anyway, that it shouldn’t matter, and Peter doesn’t realize just how dirty he looks until he’s alone. </p>
<p>He stares at himself in the mirror and feels like he’s looking at someone different. Someone hollow.</p>
<p>The tub in the master bedroom is big, and the hot water running over his body feels like relief. He’s got the kind of tension in his shoulders he didn’t really imagine was possible, and he stands there and watches as all the dirt and blood slide off him and swirl down the drain. The water is probably too hot but he doesn’t care, and he thanks God for Tony and this cabin and the fact that he still has the electricity and water running. Tony is always prepared. For anything.</p>
<p>Peter massages his arms and winces, flashing back to having them fixed above his head in isolation. He can easily get lost in that fear, if he lets himself, and he turns his face up into the spray of water and tries to be here. Present. The exact opposite of what he wanted to be, in the Raft. Even though he had to stay focused to survive.</p>
<p>He was saved. He’s <em>safe</em>. He’ll have a warm bed tonight, he’s in a nice shower, he’s got soap and so many options for shampoo that he doesn’t know where to start. He’s not handcuffed and he’s not stuffed in a small cell and he’s not being attacked and he won’t be thrown in the hole again and he can breathe, he can breathe—</p>
<p>Can he breathe?</p>
<p>They’re on the run, now. Tony’s in trouble, now, because of him. Tony, who just woke up, <em>who literally just woke up from a fucking coma</em>, who is having to take an alien elixir <em>just to function</em> is on the run with Peter, now. He’s a criminal, Iron Man is a criminal. If as Spider-Man being one wasn’t bad enough, and now Peter can imagine what the news will say. How they’ll slander Tony, how they’ll twist it—claiming the coma was fake, claiming he was working with Peter all along, bringing up all the things from his past that he’s repented for a thousand times over—</p>
<p>They’ll take them out. No matter what they’ve done in the past. They’re criminals, now. </p>
<p>Peter has to protect him, he has to—he has to do what Tony has done for him all along, what he’s doing for him now, he can’t let—he can’t let them hurt him, he can’t let his own stupid mistakes cause something so much worse to happen—and he’d stay in the goddamn Raft forever if it meant Tony could live in peace—</p>
<p>He finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower, hugging his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth. His heart is trying to rip itself from his chest and he feels another pang of loneliness, of fear, like he is back there, like all of this really, really is one of Beck’s tricks. A final trick, the cruelest one, and maybe Peter will wake up alone in the hole, chained at the wrists and ankles now, too—days and days in darkness, no food, no water, only the rawness of his throat after so much screaming, and he isn’t a person anymore, no, he’s a skeleton, decaying, unmoving, only alive because his soul just won’t let go—</p>
<p>“Tony!” Peter yells, frozen despite the heat from the water, and he can’t move, can only give in to the fear. He stares at the shower curtain and his breath wavers. He’s struck, shaking. Rocketing out of orbit. “Tony! Tony! Are you—are you there?”</p>
<p>He’s not here he’s not here he’s not here it’s fake it’s fake it’s not real—</p>
<p>Peter hears heavy footfalls, farther at first but then getting closer and closer, like they’re bounding up the stairs. </p>
<p>“Pete?” Tony’s voice says, from the other side of the door. “You need me to come in there? You okay?”</p>
<p>Peter deflates, his eyes falling closed, and the world forms around him again. He’s here, he’s actually here, it’s—it’s real. It really is real.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I just—sorry, I just wanted to—make sure you were really—still there,” Peter says, feeling stupid. He turns his face up towards the water again, letting it run down his cheeks. Moron, moron, moron.</p>
<p>“I’m here,” Tony says. “Okay? I’m here. I’m making us tuna sandwiches and tomato soup, alright? Gourmet shit is going on out here.”</p>
<p>Peter smiles, nodding even though Tony can’t see him. “Okay,” he says. “I’m—I’m almost done.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>They sit on the couch and eat their dinner close together, and they don’t turn on the TV. It’s quiet, save for the classic rock station Tony found on the stereo, and Peter still has a hard time adjusting to his new circumstances. He was only in the Raft for four days, but it ingrained something in him. A violent kind of paranoia that dug deep immediately.</p>
<p>They’ll be showing up at the cell door, soon. Cuffs in hand. He doesn’t have much time.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Tony says.</p>
<p>Peter realizes he was stuck, his spoon poised a few inches away from his mouth. He takes the sip of soup and puts the spoon back in the bowl, sitting back. He rubs his hand over his chest, sucking in a breath. </p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Tony says.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I keep, like…” He shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Hey, the word sorry? Outlawed,” Tony says. “For multiple reasons but mostly because you have nothing to be sorry for.”</p>
<p>Peter nods. “Okay, sor—”</p>
<p>“Nope. Nope.”</p>
<p>Peter shakes his head this time. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”</p>
<p>Tony pats him on the shoulder. “I wasn’t able to get any of your suits, like I said before,” he says. “But I did grab a pair of webshooters. Some of the ones we had been, uh—working on. A long time ago. No one took ‘em when they did their fucking rummaging around Pepper informed me of, I guess they didn’t know what they were. And we’ve got some of the web fluid here, so we’ll be good on that for a bit. Just in case. I grabbed ‘em because I thought they might make you feel more—you. They’re over there on the kitchen counter.”</p>
<p>Peter laughs, rubbing his eyes. He hasn’t been Spider-Man for so long, it feels like. “Is it, uh—strange that I—that I still want to be him? Spider-Man? After everything that everyone’s said?” He looks over at Tony.</p>
<p>“No,” Tony says, brows furrowed. “No, it’s not. Nothing in Spider-Man changed. He’s the same, you’re the same. Idiots believe things too easily when too many people are saying it. People in power, people they’re afraid of. Even when they know it isn’t true.”</p>
<p>Peter chews on the inside of his cheek, nodding. He’s glad Tony brought the webshooters. It makes him feel—he can’t really explain it. Like there’s a piece of him he can reclaim. </p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with Spider-Man,” Tony says. “There’s something wrong with them. And they’re gonna see, Pete. They’re gonna feel like shit when we prove you didn’t do any of the things you were accused of.”</p>
<p>They talk long into the night after that—about those five years, the kind of catching up that they never had time to do because of how things went down. For a moment it feels like the world isn’t ending, that it didn’t already end. But Peter can feel them both crashing, his own eyes straining. Now that he’s safe—as safe as he’s gonna get, for the time being—he feels incapable of moving. Just rest. Just still. Forever and ever.</p>
<p>He leans his head on Tony’s shoulder, his eyelids heavy.</p>
<p>Tony ruffles his hair. “You should go sleep upstairs, bud.”</p>
<p>He feels like he’s melting. No handcuffs. No shock vest. No cell, no prison. Still danger, but not the same. Warm house. Tony. Tony’s awake. Tony’s here. Tony saved him.</p>
<p>“I’m okay,” Peter says, already drifting.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter’s dreams are amorphous. They’re nothing, they’re colors and sounds and softness—until they’re not. Until he’s in the med bay but the guards slam through the doors this time, instead of Tony. They’ve got an army of inmates at their back, some human, some alien, some wide-shouldered and tall and too big.</p>
<p>Trish isn’t here either and Peter stumbles back, starting to throw a punch, but the cuffs snap around his wrists again, too tight, and the mob is converging on him, they’re getting closer, closer—</p>
<p>He sucks in a sharp breath, shooting up on the couch. His heart is beating wild and it takes a second for him to center himself, remember where he is. </p>
<p>“Hey, hey,” Tony’s voice says. He rushes into Peter’s line of sight and kneels down in front of him, reaching out and gripping his shoulder. “You’re good. You’re good, you’re okay.”</p>
<p>Real. Real. Real. Safe. No more Raft. Safe house. Safe house. Cabin.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Peter says. He almost apologizes again before he remembers their conversation. He focuses on Tony and notices that he trimmed his coma beard, but didn’t get rid of it completely, which is probably a good idea. So people don’t recognize him. </p>
<p>Peter is only half sitting up and he flops back down, draping an arm over his eyes. He’s under a pile of blankets now, flanked by a hoard of pillows that Tony surely put there in the night. Peter pulls his arm back and looks at him, and sees there’s a blanket nest on the arm chair across from the couch, like Tony set up shop there to keep an eye on him. </p>
<p>“Okay?” Tony asks, still holding onto him. “Steady?”</p>
<p>Peter nods, sucking in a breath. He smells something cooking, and it actually smells good, unlike Tony’s usual breakfast attempts. “You making something?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tony says, regarding him. “Uh, peanut butter toast with baked cinnamon apples. I don’t know, I just—threw a bunch of stuff together. Picked the apples from the tree in the backyard like a goddamn farmer. I should taste test before I give it to you, shit.” </p>
<p>Peter laughs and Tony gets up, walking back into the kitchen. He looks pale, but not as bad as he did last night. </p>
<p>“Being honest, I’m a little light on my feet right now,” Tony says, making Peter’s heart rattle. “Just a bit, you know—peaky, maybe? Don’t know if that’s the right word. Jarvis called me that half of my childhood and into my 20s. Anyway, I don’t feel like I’m dying but I also feel like a jellyfish.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, sitting back up and watching him. He sees a screen projection hovering over the dining room table, tons of information scrolling up and down. Peter wonders when Tony woke up, and if he got any sleep at all. “What should we do?” he asks, getting up. “Maybe we should just—stay here for a bit. Give you time to, you know—”</p>
<p>“Nah, I’m—I’ll get over it.”</p>
<p>“Tony,” Peter says, walking over and leaning on one of the dining chairs as Tony takes the apples out of the oven. Peter stares, like he really is making this up, watching him turn the heat off. He shakes his head. “You can’t—get over—”</p>
<p>“You can get over anything—”</p>
<p>“Waking up early from a coma?” Peter asks, eyes wide. “Putting your body under extreme stress—”</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, just because we promised honesty doesn’t mean we can harass each other,” Tony says, pointing over at him. “You’ll know if I’m about to keel over—”</p>
<p>“Because you tell me or because you’re passed out on the floor?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised.</p>
<p>Tony laughs, putting a plate together for him. “God, I missed you, kid. I really missed you.”</p>
<p>“I missed you too,” Peter says, blowing out a breath. “Don’t distract me from my concern. My...extremely valid concern.”</p>
<p>“I’m not,” Tony says. He gets Peter a glass of water, and walks the plate over, setting it down on the table. “I’m not to the point yet where I—listen, a crash is possible. It is. I’m trying to take it easy. If everything goes according to plan we’ll do all this from the shadows. No more flying around destroying shit, if we can help it. No fights.”</p>
<p>“Since when does anything ever go to plan?” Peter asks, sitting down. Tony pats him on the shoulder. “Thank you, this looks—surprisingly good.”</p>
<p>“Surprisingly, don’t pull your punches,” Tony says, sitting next to him. “Alright, I started early.” He gestures towards the screen. “We gotta put our case together, but it seems like the assholes have covered their bases too.”</p>
<p>“How so?” Peter asks, taking a bite of his toast. So thankful for real food and not prison slop.</p>
<p>“Somehow, they got into one of the outer levels of the Stark servers,” Tony says. Peter looks up and sees a whole list of what looks like Stark employees, and the year listed is 2016. “I was trying to find Beck’s file—he went by a different name back then, Herman Muldoon. But everything is wiped the hell out—hiring date, projects, reasons for firing—they didn’t want anybody finding it.”</p>
<p>“Shit,” Peter says, watching the search continue, all the faces flashing by. </p>
<p>“I’m trying to find the trace of it,” Tony says. “There’s gotta be something, even if they scrubbed his goddamn face off. We did blood work, all kinds of tests. It’s gonna be in there somewhere.”</p>
<p>Peter takes a bite of one of the apples, remembering how much he loves cinnamon. His heart constricts when he thinks too much about Beck—Muldoon, apparently, Jesus—and everything that happened in Europe. But he thinks about the EDITH glasses. What they might have seen. He doesn’t even know if Tony knows he had them.</p>
<p>“What?” Tony asks. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Did anyone tell you that Fury, uh—gave me those glasses?” he asks, looking at him. “That he wasn’t supposed to give me until—”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tony says, bitter. “Very eager to give him hell for that. It wasn’t even a finished project, he was running off old information. Beck never should have been able to take those from you, whether you allowed it or not.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, trying not to get too lost in the memory. “They, uh—if I understood it correctly, it was always capturing footage? Could you get into the mainframe with Friday from here and see if you can get at any of that?”</p>
<p>Tony smiles at him, nodding. “I’ve been meaning to check that,” he says. He extends his special keyboard, and starts typing in commands. “Pep said they weren’t able to get in there to check, but I think I can get past any firewalls they put up.”</p>
<p>Peter sighs, his frustration groaning in his chest.</p>
<p>“I really messed up,” Peter says, watching the screen flash as Tony switches over to EDITH. “Trusting him. Actually giving him the glasses like an...like an idiot. Saying welcome to the Avengers—”</p>
<p>“You’re under enough stress right now to be chastising yourself,” Tony says, focusing on the screen. “Don’t think about it. Beck literally designed himself to appeal to exactly what you needed in the moment. If anything, it’s my fault for nearly killing myself with the big purple asshole. You—you needed me and I wasn’t there and it left you susceptible to whatever it is they’re pulling here.”</p>
<p>“We’re not gonna trade guilt back and forth,” Peter says, chewing another apple.</p>
<p>“Isn’t that what we do?” Tony asks, opening up five new windows of code at once. “Isn’t my karmic justice you being as much of a guilt machine as me? I’m afraid to see how Morgan turns out.”</p>
<p>Peter blows out a breath and keeps eating. He thinks about all the garbage he ate in the Raft, and now he’s eating cinnamon baked apples and toast made by one of his favorite people in the world. He needs to give himself a break. He knows, from experience, that stress doesn’t help. And things could be much, much worse.</p>
<p>“We both need to quit,” Peter says. “With the guilt. Like, cold turkey.”</p>
<p>“Easier said than done,” Tony says. “But I’ll try for you, bud.”</p>
<p>“Same,” Peter says, preparing to swallow his words whenever possible. He’s already working on the apologies, but shit, it’s hard when he’s done so much wrong.</p>
<p>He sits back, eats, and watches as Tony breaks through firewall after firewall. Peter thought he was good at this stuff, but watching Tony do it makes him realize that there are a lot of things he doesn’t know. Tony is inches from destroying the EDITH mainframe and all its information about a hundred times, but he always gets around it.</p>
<p>“Yeah, they were locked out,” Tony says, scanning over a line of code. “Pepper and Rhodey. They were the only ones other than you or me that had access before a pre-scan, and he managed to revoke all their privileges.”</p>
<p>“No wonder they couldn’t get the data,” Peter says, taking a sip of water. It makes him nervous, thinking about everything Beck did.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that and he destroyed everything from the fucking bridge,” Tony says. He brings up a screen full of black squares, and when he options one it opens with static, skips, warped, green images that even Peter can’t make out, and he was there. He glances at Tony and sees him gritting his teeth. “It’s like that for footage from twenty four hours before the events on the bridge.”</p>
<p>“Can we clean it up?” Peter asks.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna run a program and try,” Tony says, typing in another couple commands, the screen flashing with his changes. “Not gonna be a quick fix, though. I’ll have to make sure the progress casts out to my safe house network so we can pick it up where we go next.” He clicks his tongue. “Nowhere public, though, Fri, keep it with us. I reinstated Pepper and Rhodey but I don’t want them working with half-baked bullshit, that won’t get us anywhere.”</p>
<p>Peter sucks in a breath. “What about, uh, before the bridge?” he asks. “I hung out with him, there’s the—the moment where I gave him the glasses.” <em>Like a moron</em> he doesn’t say. “He probably incriminated himself immediately afterwards, maybe while he was still wearing them? You think he remembered to wipe that too?”</p>
<p>“Good thinking, Pete,” Tony says, patting him on the shoulder. </p>
<p>Peter smiles, eating another apple, dreading seeing Beck again. Him and Beck together. </p>
<p>“Alright, I’m gonna roll back from…” He searches through time stamps, and Peter sees when he first opened them on the bus. </p>
<p>“Not there. Not there.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says. He shifts forward through the thumbnails, through the long file names, and Peter tries to remember all the times he had the glasses on. They made him feel like Tony was gone. They made him feel like his life was irrecoverably different than it already was. He’s been shoving those memories down because they’re laced with bitterness, rabid with his mistakes. They led to these new fears in his heart, fears that festered in four days and are with him now, for better or worse.</p>
<p>But this is important.</p>
<p>“That should be it,” Peter says, guessing. He can see the time elapsing between uses. How much longer Beck had them on than Peter did.</p>
<p>Tony opens up the footage. It’s not corrupted, strangely enough. And Peter’s right, it’s the two of them sitting there at the bar. Peter’s cheeks heat up and he takes another couple big bites of toast, because he’s an idiot, he was such a fucking idiot, to do what he did. </p>
<p>“Don’t judge yourself,” Tony says. He glances at him. “Okay? Doesn’t do any good.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, and does it silently. He looks down, focuses on his food instead of his massive mistake playing out in front of him, and then the footage goes full corrupt as soon as Peter walks out of the bar.</p>
<p>“Wait a second here,” Tony says, eyes narrowed. </p>
<p>“What?” Peter asks. “It looks like he knew he was gonna start his own evil bullshit so he just cut it off—pretty coincidental—”</p>
<p>“No,” Tony says, slowly, rolling back over the footage at .3 the previous speed. “Jesus, this whole bar is made up of former Stark Employees. All assholes, all people we had to fire for various reasons.”</p>
<p>“What?” Peter asks, leaning forward. “Really?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, littered with ‘em.” Tony zooms in on a few and marks their faces, one bald man behind the bar in particular. “William. Jesus.” He brings up the Stark employee list again, and matches the bald guy with someone—William Ginter Riva.</p>
<p>“Didn’t bother to hide his identity,” Peter says, brows furrowed. “What do you think that means?”</p>
<p>“That Beck’s an asshole that doesn’t protect his pals,” Tony says, matching the other employees, too. “Or that he thought we’d never get back into EDITH. He probably thought I’d never be waking up. Or if I did, it’d be a long time from now.”</p>
<p>Peter blows out a breath, imagining what more time in the Raft would have felt like.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna track this asshole down and then we’re gonna find him,” Tony says. “If he’s in America, we’ll go. Hopefully it’s close, car ride close, but if it’s not, we’ll have ourselves a nice little road trip. We’ve got time. We’ll get in and out, maybe punch him in the face a few times—”</p>
<p>Peter scoffs.</p>
<p>“—and find out what we already know,” Tony says. He types in a few commands and then a hologram of the globe comes up as the search starts. “That Beck is alive. And then we can figure out why he did this, whether he has a bigger reason or he’s just insane—who he’s working with, who’s helping him, and then we’ll start building our case. It’s good I was able to get back into EDITH, that’ll—that’ll help if we can put it back together, and it’s incriminating enough that someone fucked with the footage. Friday’s checking for all that, too, the trace of where it came from, what programs they ran.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Peter says, working through it all. He knows Beck must have had a base in London, where everything was going down. With all the goddamn tech he had his hands on, and EDITH—it would have been real easy to do all this and more. But with help? Peter wonders what the hell else they erased. What else they stole.</p>
<p>“Pete, when we find William, maybe I should go alone—”</p>
<p>“No!” Peter yells, nearly choking on the bite of toast. “No. No.”</p>
<p>“Pete—”</p>
<p>“No,” Peter says. “No. You just said earlier that you’re avoiding fights because you’re still recovering—”</p>
<p>“Not in <em>so</em> many words—”</p>
<p>“We’re both messed up,” Peter says, staring at him. “We’re like—we make one really good fighter right now. And I’m not just gonna sit here while you go and solve my problems for me.”</p>
<p>“William is like, a candy ass, kid—”</p>
<p>“Good, so we’ll be fine,” Peter says. He’s not taking no for an answer, he is absolutely not letting Tony go alone anywhere after waking up from a coma five minutes ago. </p>
<p>Tony sighs, shaking his head at him. “People are looking for you, Peter. After what I did—”</p>
<p>“After what you did, exactly,” Peter says, getting a little heated. “In it together, like you said. You can’t take it back.”</p>
<p>“Fine, squirt,” Tony says, reaching out and ruffling Peter’s hair. “Fine, fine. Jesus. Okay.” He nods to himself, looks like he’s trying to make peace with the idea without saying anything out loud. “How was that, huh?” he asks, gesturing to Peter’s plate. “Not a complete triumph, but better than my usual fare.”</p>
<p>“It’s <em>really</em> good,” Peter says, taking another bite, glad Tony isn’t fighting him on the going with him thing. “You’re getting better at the whole cooking deal. Morgan’s doing?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tony says, smiling. “She is—extremely demanding.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I know,” Peter says, laughing. “In the short amount of time I knew her I made her cookies like, six times.” And he misses her. God, he misses her. He can’t imagine how Tony feels. He’s here instead of there.</p>
<p>Tony snorts. “I can’t wait to make this shit right again so I can see you two together.”</p>
<p>“Me too,” Peter says, swallowing a pang of guilt.</p>
<p>“Go relax, huh?” Tony asks. “In a real bed. I’ll wake you up when I get the location and we’ll head out and find Willy’s stupid ass, if it isn’t too far away.”</p>
<p>Peter’s heart jumps. “Don’t—”</p>
<p>“I will not, under any circumstances, leave without you,” Tony says, reading his mind. “Promise.”</p>
<p>Peter narrows his eyes at him.</p>
<p>“Promise, swear,” Tony says, holding up his hands, like surrender.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Peter says, knowing he wouldn’t lie to him about something like that. He cracks his jaw, and the idea of being alone still—sends him into a different mindset. Alone, in that cell. Alone, in the hole. Alone, alone, danger all around him. “I’ll, uh. I’m gonna leave the door open, just, uh—”</p>
<p>“I’ll listen out,” Tony says, squeezing his shoulder. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>And Tony does. He checks up on Peter like he used to do with Morgan when she was a baby, standing in the doorway and watching his chest rise and fall. Peter sleeps on his side, with his knees pulled up his chest, and Tony remembers how the kid would splay out on the couch during his impromptu naps way back when. He knows the Raft has influenced him. </p>
<p>Tony gets up every couple of minutes to make sure he’s alright. </p>
<p>He stops on the stairs on his seventh trip down, a wave of dizziness so strong gripping him that he can feel the earth turn. He stands there and grips the railing with his good hand, trying to ground himself, trying to stay on his feet, trying not to dissolve into a pile of useless mush. He’s fucking terrified that he’s gonna crash, that his body won’t carry him any further, and he forces himself to take shuddering, wavering steps down the stairs until the episode passes.</p>
<p>He wants to keep himself going fueled on his anger alone. His anger, his love, his determination. He cannot fucking drop on Peter. Not after he got him out of there. </p>
<p>He gets back downstairs in one piece and paces. He tries to exercise, tries to keep himself in shape and focused. He wants to make a fruit smoothie but they can’t go out and get anything, because the world is fucked up beyond recognition and that’s why they’re hiding in the first place. No one can see him strolling through Target, beard or no beard. They can’t get complacent.</p>
<p>He drinks water. Probably too much water. Tony tags everyone he saw in the bar, including the people he didn’t recognize, and after about two hours, Friday comes up with a location for William. </p>
<p>Tony leans in, looking at the where he is, a red dot blaring in California, right outside of Sacramento. “Well that’s fucking lucky,” he whispers. He’d been thinking of New York, but it probably makes sense he’d pick the exact opposite of where most of them are located. </p>
<p>He’s only five hours away. </p>
<p>Tony walks back up the stairs, glad he’s able to make it without nearly passing out again. He walks into Peter’s room, and immediately notices the kid is breathing faster. He’s clutching one of his own wrists in his hand, just below the bandage. The blankets are all twisted up in his legs like he’s been thrashing around. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Tony says, sitting down beside him and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Pete. Wake up, kid, it’s okay.”</p>
<p>Peter startles almost immediately, eyes darting around before they land on Tony. He lets go of his wrist and swallows hard, blinking at him.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Tony says. “You’re safe.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, rubbing his eyes. “Did you find him?” he asks, voice rough. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “How’s a five hour drive sound?”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>They fill up a couple backpacks with some of the clothes Tony had here, stuffing the suits and Peter’s webshooters in there, too. Tony knows there’s a good chance they won’t be coming back to this place, and all of the other houses are stocked, too. But he knows it gives Peter peace of mind to have some things of his own with him, considering how much has been taken from him.</p>
<p>They load into the Volvo all dressed up in long sleeves and baseball caps, and get onto the road pretending they’re any old father and son on a road trip. Not Tony Stark and Peter Parker. Not Iron Man and Spider-Man.</p>
<p>Tony talks to Peter about everything. Not all the bullshit they had to go through before, not all the pain and the trauma—he finds out about Peter’s life, what he’s been doing while Tony’s been sleeping. He finds out about the girl, about MJ, about Peter’s lovey dovey feelings that remind him a lot of his own for Pepper. He hears about their mall adventures, about the one time she nearly found out about Spider-Man early on, when he had to take care of a stalker in her building. He loves the way Peter lights up when he talks about her, and it just gives Tony another important reason to get him home.</p>
<p>Peter talks about lunches with May, dumb shit at school, how everyone dealt with the blip. He talks about all the dedications to Tony for what he did, the celebrations Bruce took part in because he was the one who snapped everyone back into existence. He talks about everything, little details like the colors of people’s clothes and the weather on the day in question or what he ate for breakfast then.</p>
<p>Tony had missed this. He had really, really missed this. A world without Peter was too goddamn quiet. </p>
<p>Peter is still eating his peanut butter and jelly when they stop one street over from where Friday says William is located. The sun is setting and Tony parallel parks so he can see the shack through the backyards. This isn’t the nicest neighborhood, and half of the streetlights are out. </p>
<p>Tony turns the car off and lets out a breath. He’s worried about Peter. He wishes he could get Peter to stay in the car. But that’s an impossible request, so he doesn’t even voice it.</p>
<p>“What are we doing?” Peter asks, quickly shoveling the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. He grabs the webshooters out of the backpack, and Tony’s repulsor watch, too. He hands it over. “Going in guns blazing?”</p>
<p>“As much as I want to,” Tony says, putting his glasses on that have access to Friday. She throws up a few different routes that don’t compromise them, and she keeps him informed of what’s going on in the surrounding area. Tony taps the glasses and looks at Peter. “I think we better take this slow and steady. Quiet.”</p>
<p>Peter nods. “Okay,” he says. “Ready when you are.”</p>
<p>Tony watches as Friday scans his own body, trying to point out any weaknesses that might stop him in his tracks. She doesn’t see anything life-threatening, or anything that could threaten the mission. She sees plenty of shit, though, that he ignores. He sucks in a big breath and looks down at his left arm, the healing pod still pulsing around it.</p>
<p>He disengages it, and watches it shrink until it slips off his finger and into the cup holder. He clenches his hand, cracks his wrist. Remembers the snap.</p>
<p>“You don’t need it anymore?” Peter asks.</p>
<p>Tony doesn’t know. He isn’t sure. But he feels capable. Maybe it’s the adrenaline again.</p>
<p>“Nope,” he says, steeling himself. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter follows Tony around back, through a couple overgrown lawns, and this is not how he pictured a potential visit to California going. But he follows anyway, his heart on a rampage, and he breaks the double lock on William’s back door with one squeeze.</p>
<p>He feels better, with the webshooters. They make him feel more capable. More like he used to be.</p>
<p>They creep in through the hallway, and Peter can hear William breathing, can hear him typing, can hear the TV quietly playing a sitcom laugh track. The lighting in here isn’t any better than the lighting outside. There’s a storm brewing a few miles away and Peter can hear it rumbling. Tony stays ahead, one arm thrown out in front of him like he’s ready to confront anyone that so much as looks at him.</p>
<p>Peter barely remembers seeing this bald guy in the bar, but he didn’t look like much in his picture. And supposedly, he’s the only one in the house.</p>
<p>They’re at the edge of the next room now, and Tony reaches back, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder. They meet each other’s eyes, and Peter hears William laughing.</p>
<p>Tony holds his hands up, and silently mouths a message.<em> 1, 2, 3.</em></p>
<p>Peter is faster than him, despite the way his body still aches with fear from his ordeal. He moves past Tony, into the room, and quickly takes stock of everything—the old, deflated couch, the tray and TV dinner, the small, analog TV playing <em>Everybody Loves Raymond. </em></p>
<p>William himself is sitting at what looks like a messy, dilapidated desk, in front of an old computer. His eyes go wide but before he can make a move, Peter shoots a web, pinning his hand to the desk. He rushes over and rips it off, holding his wrist there with his own strength. He doesn’t want to leave any webs behind.</p>
<p>“Shit, oh shit—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, oh shit,” Tony says, rushing forward, shoulder to shoulder with Peter. He holds his hand out, repulsor pointed at William’s forehead. “We’re gonna have a nice little chat about your recent activity.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know shit, I don’t know <em>shit—</em>I mean, what, what are you talking about—”</p>
<p>“Did you work with him?” Peter yells, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He’s trembling with anger, and Beck’s laughing face appears in his mind’s eye. “Did you help him do all that?”</p>
<p>“Kid, you’ve got a lot of nerve—”</p>
<p>“You better roll it the fuck back, William,” Tony says, shoving closer, a hand around William’s throat now, the repulsor in his face. “We know what you did. We know the whole fucking thing is bullshit. It doesn’t matter if they know we were here because we can disappear, asshole. We already know they’re out for us, but we’re out for you and Beck’s little pansy team that made up all this shit—”</p>
<p>William actually smiles, though it looks panicked and fearful. “Tony, Tony—”</p>
<p>“Don’t Tony me,” Tony says, pushing closer.</p>
<p>Peter knows he might kill him, knows he’s angry enough to snap and do something he’ll regret. He can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.</p>
<p>“Listen,” Peter says, stepping closer, alongside Tony again. “You don’t need to fool us. You don’t need to—carry on the story. I was there, I’m the one you did this to. I’m the one he betrayed. And I know all of this is just...another trick.”</p>
<p>“We know he’s alive,” Tony snarls. “So cut the bullshit.”</p>
<p>William’s eyes dart back and forth between them.</p>
<p>“Dipshit,” Tony says. “Speak. Open up.”</p>
<p>“Why should I tell you anything?” William says, laughing. “You two? You? The world’s most hated enhanced and the worst boss in the—”</p>
<p>“He left you out here like a sitting duck,” Tony snaps, cocking his head. “I was able to find you easy, whereas all your other friends are completely off the map. Completely hidden, off the grid. But you? He didn’t care about keeping you safe. You know, a few of the Avengers have spent some time on the other side of the law. You’ll be real easy for them to find, too.”</p>
<p>William seems to consider this, all of it, and Tony’s repulsor glows. Then he laughs, squeezing his eyes shut tight, tipping his head back in Tony’s grip. Peter keeps a good hold on his wrist.</p>
<p>“Fuck it,” he says. “That guy was—<em>is</em>—a fucking lunatic.”</p>
<p>Peter’s heart speeds up. </p>
<p>“I can’t convince you, right?” William asks, opening his eyes again. “You’re the star of the story, like you said. I don’t have all his little fucking drones and costumes and magic shit—of course he’s fucking alive. Of course.”</p>
<p>Peter knew it, he knew, in his heart—it was the only goddamn thing that made sense, but the news still feels like a punch to the gut, and nearly sets him off his feet.</p>
<p>“Who was helping him?” Tony asks, not skipping a beat. “Not you, not the fucking minions, the higher up’s. The ones with power. I know he didn’t orchestrate this on his own.”</p>
<p>“Oh yeah,” William says, still laughing. “The first and last person you’d expect, I guess—”</p>
<p>Tony cuts him off with a hand over his mouth, and he’s staring past him now, breath coming faster. </p>
<p>“What?” Peter whispers harshly. He keys in, tries to be aware, and he’s having a harder time with that lately unless he focuses. </p>
<p>But then he feels it. That wary feeling in his gut.</p>
<p>Something is happening. </p>
<p>Tony’s eyes widen and Peter sees the glasses flashing, and before he knows it Tony is grabbing his arm and hauling him back out the way they came. He’s breathing hard, almost limping, and Peter almost questions, almost looks back, because they didn’t get all their information, they didn’t get enough—but the feeling inside him gets stronger, more panicked. </p>
<p>They rush out into the night and weave through the backyards again, and that’s when Peter hears it.</p>
<p>The front door of William’s house. Somebody kicks it in.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” Tony whispers, moving them along faster, and even though they’re moving further away Peter’s hearing picks it all up.</p>
<p>Three different men. Guns rattling. Their voices are muffled and mixing together, but they’re demanding. Accusing.</p>
<p>Tony and Peter reach the car and get in as quietly as they can, Tony dropping the repulsor in the back seat. He backs up all the way down the street before he turns, heading down the road and away from William’s location.</p>
<p>“Is anyone following us?” Peter asks, turning and peering out the back window. He can’t tell. The feeling is like a bad stomach ache, but it doesn’t get better or worse.</p>
<p>“Not so Friday says,” Tony says, focusing on the road and whatever information she’s feeding him. “I think he must have tripped something somehow, because they would be on us if they knew we were there. If that was what brought them, I mean.”</p>
<p>“And you’re sure they’re not?” Peter asks, heart slamming in his ears as he continues to stare out the window. He wishes he knew. He wishes he could tell.</p>
<p>“They’re not,” Tony says. “You getting your weird feeling?”</p>
<p>“Sorta kinda,” Peter says, swallowing hard. “I didn’t get it before you stopped him from talking. My brain’s been all—off, lately. Since a little before the trial.” He knows it’s all the fear. There’s too much, it’s clouding his head. He can’t focus properly, he can’t stay on task.</p>
<p>“Friday says no,” Tony says. “I think we’re okay. I’ll try and activate one of the stealth drones at the next safe house and see what’s going on back there, if they stay with him or what.”</p>
<p>Peter sits back a couple minutes later, letting out a breath. </p>
<p>“Try and sleep, kid,” Tony says. “I’m gonna drive through the night.”</p>
<p>“What?” Peter asks, brows furrowed. “Isn’t that—too much driving?”</p>
<p>Tony scoffs, glancing at him. “It’ll be fine. Gotta get us to the next place, gotta stay on the move. I don’t wanna stay here, just in case. Next one’s one of my favorites. In the mountains. It’s got good tiling.”</p>
<p>Peter laughs, shaking his head. He tugs at his seatbelt a little bit and slides down more, his mind racing with too many thoughts. He knows he can’t go to sleep because he has to keep an eye on Tony. Anything can happen at any time. </p>
<p>And Jesus. Beck’s alive. He’s alive. They knew it, but now they really know it. And what would motivate William to lie about that? It’s true, he’s alive, he’s out there somewhere. He did this and they’re gonna find him.</p>
<p>Peter clutches at his own hands, wringing them, trying to make sense of their situation. There’s no making sense of it. Not really. He misses May, MJ and Ned. He needs to talk to them, he needs to, but he doesn’t know how. He feels adrift, without May and Ned. And he never thought he’d actually get a girlfriend and then immediately fall into something like this—which cuts him off from her completely. He misses Morgan and Pepper and Happy too. Tony still feels like a North Star, leading him back towards his old life. But they’re wading through no man’s land.</p>
<p>“I don’t know how the hell we’re gonna make Beck show himself,” Peter says, his throat tight. He remembers that’s not even his name, but he has a hard time calling him anything else. </p>
<p>“I didn’t know him for very long,” Tony says, gripping the steering wheel. “But he was always such a theatrical dick. We’re gonna have to get his attention, somehow. If we haven’t already.”</p>
<p>“You don’t think he’ll bury himself even deeper now that he knows I’m out?” Peter asks. </p>
<p>Tony chews on his lower lip. “We’ll see,” he says. “We’ve gotta make a step by step plan. Usually I’m completely against planning, just—fools rush in, I’m the ultimate fool, but this—this is important. We’ve gotta be careful, do it right.” He glances over at Peter. “But he’s out there. We’re gonna find him.” </p>
<p>There’s a lump in Peter’s throat, and a particularly acidic sense of shame shudders down his spine. He can’t stop it. He can’t swallow it down. He shakes his head and wants to punch something. “I can’t believe I was stupid enough to give him EDITH. I just—”</p>
<p>“Don’t, alright?” Tony says, gently. “You’re not stupid. Recall that one of my mentors literally tried to have me killed and then tried to murder me himself and I didn’t realize until he actually paralyzed me.”</p>
<p>Peter cracks his jaw, nodding.</p>
<p>“Sleep, bud, c’mon.”</p>
<p>Peter shakes his head now, finally taking off the webshooters and storing them in his backpack. “I’m not gonna leave you alone,” he says. “I will not be a bad driving partner.”</p>
<p>Tony smiles, shaking his head. “Then find a good radio station,” he says. “Find some Zeppelin. We need that right now.”</p>
<p>Peter leans forward, turning the dial, searching for a rock station. He doesn’t know where they’re going, but he doesn’t care. He knows Tony is gonna keep him safe.</p>
<p>And they’re gonna find Beck.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. bloom with joy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter doesn’t ask where they are when they get there. The place is similar to the last one, a little smaller, and he feels strangely tired even though he’s barely done anything but travel. There’s only one floor here, and Peter’s eyes are straining and simmering with overuse.</p><p>“This acquisition was more recent,” he vaguely hears Tony say. “Right before the fucking donut ship. Right after that shit that went down with you and those drug dealers on 31st street.”</p><p>Peter snorts, shuffling inside. “Stop remembering every detail of that.”</p><p>“The goddamn cayenne pepper—”</p><p>Peter shakes his head, laughing a little, barely looking around.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Tony says, taking him by the shoulders. “Bedtime. Sleep.”</p><p>“Bedrooms next to each other?” Peter asks, glancing at him as he leads him into a hallway. </p><p>“Yup,” Tony says. They turn and he presents two doors, pushing the one on the right open and flipping on the lights. “Got another car—wait, there are two cars here. Both shitty. Well, the shittier one is in a car storage unit a couple streets away. But we’ll do some more research tomorrow. See how Friday is doing with the footage, I’ll activate her again when I wake up.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, trying to contend with his tiredness and all the thoughts in his head at the same time. </p><p>A chill runs through him and he gets a flash of that moment when he was on the ground, the electricity running through him. Another flash, William laughing. Another, the last time he saw May. He doesn’t remember—when the hell was that? She was crying, she was clutching at him. Chanting <em>no, no no, not my baby</em></p><p>“Alright, Pete, I’ll—”</p><p>Peter turns around and hugs him. He tries not to shake, and Tony quickly hugs him back, squeezing his shoulder. Peter is close to apologizing, but he swallows it down. His emotions are constantly getting the better of him, but he’s not alone anymore.</p><p>“We’re okay,” Tony says. </p><p>“I know, I know,” Peter says, breathing into his shoulder. He’s a broken record, and he doesn’t say it again, but he’s just thankful he’s here. “I know.”</p><p>“We can keep our doors open,” Tony says, patting his back. “I listen out for you, you listen out for me. Alright?”</p><p>“Yup,” Peter says, pulling back. He doesn’t know how the hell he’s gonna sleep.</p><p>~</p><p>He doesn’t. </p><p>He drifts, staring at the pockmarked ceiling, and he feels like he’s choking on his own breath. It’s strangely hot in here, and the fan above him creaks, spinning lazily. When he’s still, in relative quiet, his senses kick into overdrive. He hears the kitchen sink trickling. Someone watching TV a few miles away. The fridge running, the ice maker rumbling. Tony’s uneven breathing in the next room.</p><p>Peter’s memories are like rooms he can wade into, doors open and inviting despite the horrors that lie within. His mind is a maze and he’s the rat trapped in it. Plane, Toomes, Thanos, Dead, Dead, Dead. Coma, Beck. Raft.</p><p>Chains. Dead again and chained to the wall like a goddamn murderer. Because that’s what they know him as now. And it streaks his mind’s eye like rancid blood. Scraped on the walls. His own pain, doubt, suffering. </p><p>He wants to close those doors. He wants to burn the whole thing down and start over with the essentials. He wants to drown all the trauma out. </p><p>He covers his face with his hands, breathing hard for a second, legs twisted in the too-soft blankets. </p><p>Beck laughs at him, Beck traps him, Beck’s betrayal is a hand around his throat. Beck squeezes the life out of him. </p><p>Peter throws the sheets off of him, eager to get some air. This backyard has a high fence, unlike the dingy one around the last house, and Peter throws his legs over the side of the bed, slipping on the sandals Tony pulled out of the closet for him. It’s weird to think this is the most recent place Tony acquired, right when they were becoming their closest, and Peter doesn’t know who the hell that life belongs to anymore. Another him. A Peter that’s gone. Changed. </p><p>There are more clothes here for him, all hanging up and arranged in the closet, and Peter pulls out a Mets jacket and puts it on. He pads out into the hallway and peers inside Tony’s room—the bedside lamp is still on, and Tony is clutching the nano housing unit like he thinks he’s gonna need to suit up at a moment’s notice. Peter chews on the inside of his cheek and watches for a second, worrying, wondering about what the hell happened at William’s house after they left. Tony deployed the drone before both of them went to bed, but it didn’t bring back the information yet. Peter gets a weird feeling when he thinks about checking it, and he decides not to til morning. Well, real morning. After he tries to sleep more.</p><p>He stares at Tony for a couple seconds longer, horribly reminded of all those months when he was in the coma, and then Peter quietly walks down the hall, and towards the back sliding door. He slips outside and stands on the back porch for a second, sucking in a deep breath, rolling back on his heels. It’s only a little bit cold, not horrible for someone used to New York weather, and it’s not snowing out. </p><p>The trees are tall and dark, but the mountains tower higher behind them, dwarfing them and him too. Peter thinks about all the high-up places he’s been, how far he’s had to fall. He thinks about climbing to the top of the mountain and jumping off of it, just to feel the wind on his face. </p><p>He stands there, staring out at a world that hates him, when he feels that feeling in his gut. It’s dull at first, almost latent, but then it turns sharp, urgent, and he sees something moving in the bushes. Just a rustle, and then it’s faster—someone—a person.</p><p>Peter’s mind goes wild, and he doesn’t think it’s anything innocent, that would be too much of a coincidence. He panics, wonders how the hell they found them, one of Tony’s goddamn safe houses, wonders if that means just this one is compromised or the others are too. </p><p>Then where would they go?</p><p>He glances over his shoulder and sees a light come on inside the house. Tony knows. Tony’s awake.</p><p>Peter rushes into the darkness when his thoughts overwhelm him, and his senses drive him in the right direction—one man, he thinks, so far—Peter can smell his cologne, his sweat, the new polyester in his clothes. He’s a dark figure amongst all the trees but he doesn’t hear Peter coming yet, not yet, and Peter sneaks up behind him through the rose bushes, staying low. The man is taller than him but a little gawky, and he’s got on green fatigues and a face mask, his eyes flashing green when he looks up towards the house.</p><p>Peter takes advantage of his stealth position and tackles the man to the ground as soon as he gets close enough.</p><p>They struggle for a minute, and the man is wearing heavy equipment—armor, guns, fucking grenades—but Peter plants his knees in the damp soil on either side of the man’s body and keeps him pinned. He sees him reaching for a gun, one of the many strapped to his side, but Peter grabs his wrist with one hand and punches him out with the other. It takes two punches to make him go limp, and Peter’s arm aches with the exertion.</p><p>There are handcuffs on the man’s belt, and Peter’s stomach turns.</p><p>
  <em>Just like the vibranium ones in the Raft. For him.</em>
</p><p>He hears rustling behind him but this person isn’t trying to keep quiet, and Peter turns and sees Tony there, frantic. He’s got two backpacks on and his brow furrows, and he glances around, tapping the ear piece.</p><p>“Any more?” Tony asks, talking to both Peter and Friday.</p><p>Peter tries to go by the feeling in his gut as he climbs off the man, but it’s like a broken compass, and he can’t really tell what it’s trying to say. He was barely alerted before this guy was directly next to him, and usually it gives him a lot more time than that.</p><p>“Not that I know of,” Peter says, breathing hard and stepping back closer to him. “We gotta go, we gotta—”</p><p>“Wait, wait,” Tony says. He puts one of the backpacks in Peter’s arms and moves back inside, and Peter can’t tell if he’s limping or not. His own heart is loud in his ears and he focuses on the man in the grass, staring at him. Peter’s terrified more like him are gonna come. Is he with Beck? Is he with the goddamn police? The government? There have to be more. He couldn’t be alone. </p><p>Tony comes back out a minute later and walks over to the man, kneeling down and pressing something into the back of his hand. Peter steps closer just in time to watch it dissolve, and then Tony puts something else that Peter can’t see inside the man’s vest. Tony creaks back up, grabbing Peter’s arm. </p><p>“I got real shoes set out for you inside,” he says, urging him back towards the door. “Put ‘em on, then we’re heading for the storage place where the other car is. We’ll be too loud and obvious with the one in the garage.”</p><p>Peter has a hundred questions. But he doesn’t want to hold them up.</p><p>~</p><p>It’s still the early morning and there’s hardly anybody on the street, so there isn’t anybody to notice them walking to the storage unit. Tony keeps whispering to Friday, looking over his shoulder like he thinks someone might be coming. But finally, they get to the car without incident, and they’re quiet, listening to some morning talk show DJs argue about ketchup on your fries.</p><p>Peter clears his throat when they get onto the highway, and Tony sighs.</p><p>“I don’t know how the hell they found the house,” Tony says. “Or if they even meant to find the house.”</p><p>“They?”</p><p>“There were three more a couple miles out, but they were checking other places,” Tony says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if that means someone saw us along the way, or in the vicinity—shit, we were barely even there.”</p><p>Peter cracks his jaw and rubs his wrist. He’s lucky they got out with everything they had. He’s lucky they got out without a fight. That guy was so loaded up with weapons, if it had been three more just like him at the same time—</p><p>Peter doesn’t want to doubt himself, but his own strength and resolve feel like they’re swirling down the drain. The old Peter would have been able to take all four of them. But this one?</p><p>“I don’t think the house was compromised,” Tony says. “I don’t. Someone must have seen us or something. Last night.”</p><p>“What did you put on his hand?” Peter asks, stomach rumbling. </p><p>Tony has been glum and bleary-eyed since all this shit happened, but at that question, he smiles. He glances over at him. “A tracker,” he says.</p><p>Peter perks up. “What?” he asks. “You had trackers? You just had them?”</p><p>Tony scoffs. “C’mon kid. You know I’ve always got something up my sleeve.”</p><p>Peter laughs, sinking a little lower into his seat. He rubs his hand over his chest and watches the road signs as they pass them. “And he won’t find it?” he asks. </p><p>“Nope,” Tony says. “It’s a particle that dissolves into his skin. It’ll work for about six months before it breaks apart, but that’s plenty of time for us. I put an audio recorder inside his vest, too, it’s undetectable. I’ve got it hooked up to Friday, let’s just hope his dumbass keeps the vest on if he decides to say anything important.”</p><p>“Friday’s listening?” Peter asks.</p><p>“And recording,” Tony says. “She’ll feed it through if we get anything. And I’m sure we’ll get something, we’ve gotta get something. Hopefully he’ll go right to his boss when he wakes up and reports in.”</p><p>Peter blows out a breath, still watching the signs and the trees and the road and the way the clouds shift in the sky, heavy and grey with oncoming rain. They hang like bad memories on top of the mountains, the last curls of sunlight cutting through the approaching storm. </p><p>“Okay, Pete?” </p><p>“Okay.” Peter’s voice wavers.</p><p>“I don’t think we were compromised,” Tony says, firmly. “I really don’t. I think the safe house network is still safe but I’m having Friday check a larger area for the one I’m heading towards. It’s two hours out. No one’s on our tail right now.”</p><p>“You sure?” Peter asks. </p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, we’re okay.”</p><p>Peter glances over his shoulder again, as if he might see them, racing up behind them in some slick black car. He doesn’t know what the hell to expect, and he feels like there are ants crawling all over him. But the tracker and the audio are good. They’re both good things. He nods to himself and sucks in a wavering breath, running his hand through his hair.</p><p>Tony reaches over and grips his shoulder. “We’re okay,” he says, voice steady and comforting. “I’m sorry it was such a close call.”</p><p>“Not your fault,” Peter says, looking at him. He knows his eyes are red, but he’s not really embarrassed of his weakness, not around Tony. Tony doesn’t even see it that way. </p><p>“I’m being ten times more paranoid with this next one,” Tony says, patting Peter’s shoulder and replacing his hand on the wheel. “Just—bear with me, alright? No more snooping assholes.”</p><p>Peter laughs a little bit, and he doesn’t know why he feels so shaky. He can’t get that guy out of his head, looming around in the shadows. Maybe it’s because he got so close. Maybe because Tony was in danger.</p><p>Maybe because the guy’s uniform reminded Peter of the ones the guards wore in the Raft. </p><p>It must have been on purpose.</p><p>“Pete,” Tony says, shifting into the middle lane. “I’m not gonna let them take you back there. Okay? I know that’s what’s in your head. It’s not happening. Not happening.”</p><p>Peter feels frozen for a small moment, locked in black and white. But then he glances at Tony again, managing a small smile. <em>Tony got you out. He saved you</em>. “I know,” Peter says, trying to stop thinking altogether. “I know, I know, you’re too stubborn to let your plan backfire.”</p><p>“Damn right.”</p><p>Next place, next place. Still safe. Still safe. Tony’s got you.</p><p>~</p><p>Tony tries to distract him on the drive by telling him stories, a lot of them from his MIT days with Rhodey. Peter listens and doesn’t know how the hell Rhodey put up with his shit, but then again he knows how far he would go for anyone he loves, no matter how annoying they can be. But Tony’s stories definitely ward Peter off drinking, even though he’s weirdly been thinking about how much he just wants to get drunk. Just once. Maybe it might help, with all this shit. Maybe it would make him feel better.</p><p>May would be disappointed in him, but he doesn’t think about that. </p><p>When they get within four miles of the next safehouse, Tony pulls into an abandoned lot and puts on his sunglasses, having a full conversation with Friday about the area and the surroundings. He has her mark every single cop in the vicinity and watch their movements, because he doesn’t trust them either, and she keeps an eye on the radius he sets up, making sure no one crosses it. They sit there for twenty minutes while he makes sure everything is safe, and then they finally leave and continue heading towards the house. </p><p>It isn’t ostentatious but it’s bigger than the last one, maybe even bigger than the first. It looks newer, has a porch swing in the front and a few benches, like this place might be nice for a party if the circumstances weren’t so insane. There’s a weird cardinal sign on the front door, a blue bird one by the window, and a rose petal welcome mat under the door. The decor out here screams anything but <em>Tony Stark</em>. Peter doesn’t know if that would throw them off their trail, the people with technology who are looking for them, but the general public definitely wouldn’t peg Iron Man to be hiding out here. Peter wouldn’t either, and he knows him. That’s not even the usual shit Tony equips to keep people away.</p><p>Tony pulls the car around back, into the unfenced yard, and Peter looks around, to take stock of the area in case they need to make a quick escape. He doesn’t see anybody lurking, or anybody passing by, and once again, they’re off away from other houses. He doesn’t even see one in the distance, just mountain ranges and thick clusters of cylinder trees sticking up like half-formed arrows. The last signs he took notice of said Wyoming, so Peter figures that’s where they still are.</p><p>Tony sits there once they park directly behind the cabin, his eyes pouring over something Friday is feeding him.</p><p>“Anything on the guy yet?” Peter asks, still staring out the window. </p><p>“He left town about forty minutes ago—”</p><p>Peter’s brain malfunctions. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asks, indignant.</p><p>“You finally seemed <em>calm</em>, kid, I didn’t wanna—”</p><p>“Tony—”</p><p>“Peter—”</p><p>They both sigh, and Peter’s irritation is mostly at himself for being on such a hair trigger that Tony is hesitant to tell him things when they happen.</p><p>“He was knocked out for almost a half hour,” Tony says, clearing his throat, which makes Peter wonder if he didn’t say anything because he was worried Peter killed him. “But then he slowly got up, bumbled around for a while, and then he headed east and got picked up by a jet.”</p><p>“He’s still traveling?” Peter asks.</p><p>Tony nods. “Towards New York,” he says. “The jet isn’t registered to anybody we know but I’m having Friday dig.”</p><p>Peter nods back, and Tony turns the car off. He reaches back and pulls the big, jangling set of keys out of one of the backpacks, and Peter’s stomach rumbles again. </p><p>“Let’s go inside and feed you,” Tony says.</p><p>“We’re good?” Peter asks. </p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “Friday’s keeping track of anyone within a ten mile radius, even if they’re using stealth technology.”</p><p>“Can they see through <em>our</em> stealth technology?” </p><p>“Nobody can see through our stealth technology,” Tony says. “I’ve made sure of that.” He gives Peter a withering look. “What happened was a fluke, okay? Friday checked on everything and it wasn’t on our end, they didn’t track us. Some naggy fucking Nancy saw us, said something to her deadbeat brother or some shit and it traveled to the wrong people. That’s what happened. But now I’m covering all that too, anyone talks about us, in any number of keywords, Friday’s got it, okay?”</p><p>Peter thinks about that, his head pounding with hunger and with fear and with irritation. “Do you use this stuff all the time?” he asks. “Like. Not in emergencies.”</p><p>Tony almost winces. “I know, privacy, yeah—no, only in emergencies,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Only when my family’s threatened, alright?”</p><p>Peter nods, wiping his eyes. He’s all over the place, and he needs to come back down to earth.</p><p>“Swear,” Tony says.</p><p>~</p><p>Tony makes him mac and cheese out of a box and Peter eats it like it’s the most incredible thing he’s ever had. </p><p>“So, uh, I guess I had a slight mid-life crisis when I had this place stocked,” Tony says, eating a can of beans. “Because I have all this hair dye and these disguises and shit—but I think I’m gonna cultivate a new look that might—make our previous problem a little less of a problem.”</p><p>Peter chews, looking at him, considering what it would feel like to make a change. He’s never done anything drastic to his look, if he can even call it that, and he tries to tell himself it’s a good idea. He tries to tell himself it would probably help. Make it so people have to look twice, if they look at all. </p><p>They know who he is now. That’s all there is to it. He’s gotta fight against it however he can.</p><p>He clears his throat. “Yeah, I should probably. I should probably do that too.”</p><p>They finish their lunch, and then they help each other dye their hair and Tony’s beard. Tony goes full grey, which Peter didn’t even know people did, so he’s surprised to see an actual box of grey dye. Peter himself goes for blond, after a lot of debating and a lot of coaxing from Tony, reminders that they can just fix it back when this is all over.</p><p>That’s all Peter keeps thinking about. When this is all over.</p><p>The bleach burns, it’s own type of torture. They almost fuck up more than one time, but finally, after what feels like hours, they’re standing there looking like two different people. Or weird, alternate versions of themselves. Peter’s hair is blond and shorter, and he picked out one of the pairs of round glasses Tony had that look like the ones Peter wore before he got bitten by the spider. He dyed his eyebrows too, which was a little traumatizing, and he narrows his eyes at himself, feeling strangely separate. Another person superimposed on who he used to be.</p><p>Tony looks older, and he’s styled his hair differently than he usually does, changed his beard and shaved off his mustache.</p><p>“Who the hell are those guys?” Peter asks, staring at the both of them in the mirror.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Tony says. He leans on the counter, squinting. “But shit, looking at you, maybe I shoulda gone with the blond. Looks good, looks better than I thought it would. Not that I had any doubts.” Peter can tell there’s some nickname or movie reference on the tip of Tony’s tongue, but he holds it back.</p><p>Peter hums, running his hands through his hair, and it’s still a little damp. “I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to get used to it. Look like...Fred from Scooby Doo.”</p><p>Tony pats his shoulder, laughing. “Won’t be long,” he says. He sighs and taps on the ear com, listening to Friday say something.</p><p>“Anything on the guy?” Peter asks, messing with his hair again. “Or the footage?” He feels like he’s forgetting something. There’s too much to keep up with. </p><p>Peter thinks about the news and what kind of shit they’re probably spewing. The inclination to look is a difficult thing to resist, and he’s constantly seconds from turning on the TV and searching out their lies. But he doesn’t ask about that, he bites it down like he has been the apologies and the guilt and everything else he shouldn’t be feeling, but that he feels anyway.</p><p>“Guy is still traveling,” Tony says, walking out of the bathroom and back into the living room. This place is decorated like an old lady lives here, and has been living here for years. The furniture is worn and old, the wallpaper peeling. There are tons of shelves with ornate little porcelain trinkets, cherubs and farm animals and flowers. There are quilts everywhere, fancy pillows with tassels and some that say things like <em>GRANDMA, YOU MAKE EVERY DAY BLOOM WITH JOY.</em></p><p>Peter glances at the grandfather clock against the wall as he follows him, already awaiting the oncoming clang that the next hour will bring.</p><p>“He hasn’t gotten anywhere yet, but he’s an hour or so out from New York,” Tony says, walking back into the kitchen. “So we’ll see what happens when he gets there. We’re tracking him and listening to every move he makes. Think you broke his nose, which is nice.” </p><p>He hovers around in the kitchen, opening up cabinets and pulling out cans like he wants to make something else, like he’s stretching to find the comfort that food brings, as if he’s worried he’s not providing enough of it to Peter on his own. It makes Peter’s heart clench, and he’s about to say something when Tony talks again.</p><p>“Uh, footage is still decrypting, not much news on that,” Tony says, taking out some beef jerky and something else in a zip bag. “Nothing solid on William yet, I’m pretty sure they moved him.”</p><p>That’s what Peter’s been brushing over. He doesn’t know how, it was so forefront on his mind. That damn guy this morning got him all messed up. “Oh...okay, okay. Okay.”</p><p>Tony nods. “I was thinking. I—May’s been staying with Sam, somewhere safe, and I—I didn’t wanna get your hopes up, but I checked the status of a burner phone I got him back before—uh, way back, back before my whole tiff with Steve—and, well, it’s still active, and he’s a smart guy, he—I’m sure he knows we might give him a call. And they’re not tapping it.”</p><p>Peter’s heart lifts in a way that it hasn’t since he first saw Tony again, and even this is different, because it’s a link to who he was before, because it’s <em>May</em> and the idea of hearing her voice again after what happened this morning, after what’s happened since the day that damn ship showed up in the sky. </p><p>It feels like new breath.</p><p>“I can talk to May?” Peter asks, voice breaking stupidly. “I can—we’ve got a burner? I can call from? That they won’t be able to track?”</p><p>Tony nods. “Yeah, I have a couple here,” he says. “Flip phones from the dark ages, just have to—break the thing after, just in case.” He opens up a drawer in the kitchen, rummaging around, and after a second he clears his throat, walking over to him. </p><p>With beef jerky, dried fruit, and one of the phones. </p><p>He sets it all down in front of him. “Sam’s burner is in there under, uh, bird boy seventeen. I’d keep it short and sweet, also just in case—I’m sure she knows.”</p><p>Peter’s heart is slamming because he hadn’t expected this, even though he asked, even though it’s been fluttering at the back of his mind like a captive bird. He grabs at the phone with one hand, sticking a piece of beef jerky in his mouth with the other. He starts to click through the contacts, nervous like he’s going in for a test instead of calling the person he’s closest to in the world.</p><p>“You want me to skedaddle?” Tony asks, thumb jutting in the direction of the living room.</p><p>Peter selects the number Tony said, pressing the phone to his ear and shaking his head fast. “No,” he says. “Of course not.” There’s nothing he needs to say to May that Tony can’t hear.</p><p>The phone rings and Peter panics even though there’s no reason to panic, even though it’s May, and he doesn’t even know if it’s panic or excitement or something else he can’t name, and he’s spiraling down a rainbow kaleidoscope with every trill of the phone—</p><p>“Hello?” Sam’s voice asks, a little tight.</p><p>Peter’s breath catches and he blinks a couple times, eyes and mouth dry, and he meets Tony’s gaze. Tony is standing over by the grandfather clock, and he motions for Peter to speak.</p><p>Why is he getting stage fright?</p><p>“Sam,” Peter says, quick. “It’s—”</p><p>“One second,” Sam says, not missing a beat. Peter can hear muffled sounds, as if Sam put his hand over the phone. There isn’t a lot of noise, maybe a radio playing, and then there’s a brief exchange of words.</p><p>Peter’s heart trembles.</p><p>More muffled movement, and then it sounds like the phone is snatched away.</p><p>“Hello?” May’s voice asks, high pitched. “Hello?”</p><p>Peter’s eyes immediately sting with tears. “Hi, May,” he says.</p><p>“Oh my God, baby,” she says. She sounds like she wants to say his name but the word dies before it can finish, and he wonders if she’s paranoid someone is listening. But if they were, there wouldn’t be any doubt about who she’s speaking to.</p><p>Peter trusts Tony. He knows he wouldn’t let him make the call if it wasn’t safe. He just can’t stay on too long.</p><p>“Honey, are you alright?” May asks. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m okay,” Peter says, feeling like he’s on fire, missing her so bad even though he can hear her breathing right in his ear. “What about you? Are you safe, are—is anybody harassing you? Is Sam beating them up if they are? What about Happy? Happy can beat people up.” Peter wonders if they’re still dating. He wonders why she’s staying with Sam. He has a lot of questions and not enough time and he doesn’t know how much Tony knows. He should have been asking him. Everything topples out of his brain like dominoes now that he’s talking to her, a part of his life he walled off back in the Raft. </p><p>“I’m fine, sweetheart, please, I—it’s not about me—”</p><p>“I’m really worried about you—”</p><p>“You’re—Pe—honey—Jesus—”</p><p>They both laugh a little bit and Peter feels joy and sorrow braiding together in his chest. He has so many things to say but he doesn’t know what to touch on first, how much time he really has, and it makes him nervous. He doesn’t know what too long is, either, and he looks up at Tony. He smiles gently, no urgency yet. </p><p>“Um, I’m okay,” Peter says. “I’m safe. I—” He doesn’t want to worry her, but he wants to be honest, too, because sometimes not knowing details is worse than knowing them. His mind has made scenarios so much worse than they actually were on more than one occasion. And she knows where he was. What it’s reputation is. “I went through a lot. A lot, there, uh—it was horrible, it was—it was really horrible. He got there just in time, or it would have gotten worse.” He doesn’t know it, but he knows it.</p><p>“Oh Jesus,” May says. “Jesus.”</p><p>“Nobody believes me,” Peter says, feeling small and childlike again, curled up in her lap. “None of them there did. They—they were all convinced.”</p><p>“There are plenty of people that know it’s bullshit, baby,” May says, getting fired up. “I’ve got a whole group that are standing behind you and your story and Ton—our mutual friend—we’ve got a thousand people and growing, hon. We’re out there, we’re writing letters, we’re confronting them—”</p><p>“Be careful,” Peter says, close to panicking even though it fills his heart with hope. “Seriously, that—means the world to me, but this is something else, this is—something is going on, and they want it the way they had it and we’re already messing up their plans—I don’t know why, but it’s—God, I don’t know—”</p><p>“We’re gonna continue to mess up their plans,” May asserts. “Because this is bullshit, they’re not gonna put this on you, absolutely not, not after everything you’ve done—”</p><p>“Just be careful,” Peter says, sucking in a big breath, full of nervousness. “Don’t put yourself in danger, stay safe, I can’t—I can’t lose you—”</p><p>“You won’t, not ever,” May says. “Not ever, ever. I’m safe, don’t worry, I’m safe in ways I never thought I’d be safe, like a damn superhero over here myself—”</p><p>“Good,” Peter says, leaning hard on the table, eyes still straining. “You always were.”</p><p>Her breath catches then, and he wishes he could hug her, more than anything. </p><p>He thinks about Ned, all he’s done for him. He thinks about MJ, and the last time he held her hand in his own. His heart sinks, and they feel so far away. “Are, uh, my friends—”</p><p>“They’re okay,” May says, fast. “They’re not here right now but they’re with me more often than not. They’re a part of this too. They’re shining a light, they’re making contacts, fighting for you. But don’t worry, they’re safe. They’re safe, we’re protecting them.”</p><p>Peter is only getting half the story here but he can imagine what they’re doing. Can imagine them trying to spread the truth, trying to convince the general public that what they’re being told about him is wrong. He thinks about MJ and Ned and feels so dizzy that he might fall right out of his chair.</p><p>May keeps talking. “You’re so important, sweetheart, okay? Remember that. Don’t let what they’re doing make you forget who you are. People will see—I trust our mutual friend and I trust you to bring this to light, what they’ve done, and then everyone is going to see. Okay? Just protect yourself. Just stay safe, so I can see you again—”</p><p>Tony gives Peter a look, like it’s time to end the call, and from the way May is talking, Peter figures Sam is doing something similar. </p><p>“I will,” Peter says. “I will, I’m coming back to you.”</p><p>“You better be,” she says. “Uh, honey, I don’t want to hang up, but—”</p><p>“I know, same,” Peter says, trying to breathe. “But I love you so much. I can’t wait to see you again.”</p><p>“I love you,” she says. “I’m gonna give you the biggest hug. The biggest one.”</p><p>“I can’t wait,” Peter says, trying to imagine it.</p><p>“Me either,” she says. “Okay, honey. Call again, okay? Soon as you can. When it’s safe. I love you.”</p><p>“I love you too.”</p><p>He doesn’t say goodbye and she doesn’t either, but he feels the air go out of him when he hangs up. He’s glad he got to talk to her but he feels a weird sense of loss, too. He doesn’t even want to acknowledge the things he’s thinking. He wants to bury them, but they swirl around his head like a thorny, bloody crown.</p><p>
  <em>You won’t make it back to her</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ll die first</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She’ll never hold you again</em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry it couldn’t be longer,” Tony says, walking over and taking the phone. He breaks it in half and sighs, looking down at the pieces. “But we have more, he has more—you’ll get to talk to her again. And your girlfriend, and Ned. I promise.”</p><p>Peter nods, wetting his lips. “I guess they’ve started some kind of uh, thing to try and get people to listen and believe that what they used against me is a lie,” he says. “May says they’ve got thousands of people.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt it,” Tony says. “People know, kid. A ton of ‘em are morons and follow the status quo, but there are good ones that can look past that shit. Can actually use their brains. And May’s smart enough to find those people.”</p><p>Peter grabs another slice of beef jerky, sitting back in the chair. </p><p>
  <em>As long as she’s safe.</em>
</p><p>“Thank you,” Peter says, voice breaking and thick with emotion. “For...letting me do that.”</p><p>Tony shakes his head, like he doesn’t want thank you’s, either. “Sorry it took so long,” he says.</p><p>~</p><p>Tony watches the kid, after that. He keeps bringing out snacks to try and distract him, completely exhausting the resources they have here. Tony figures a store visit could be in the realm of possibility, if he’s careful, but he’d be paranoid about the kid the entire time, along with being paranoid about being caught. So, no dice. Beef jerky and stale rice cakes and dried fruit for the time being, laid out like an offering of God knows what in front of Peter.</p><p>Seeing him talk to May makes Tony desperately want to talk to Pepper and Morgan, to assure them they’re alright, that they’re gonna fix this, but he knows his focus is worn thin, knows he’s one panic attack away from full body breakdown. He’ll hold them when this is done. He’ll hold them when he’s home.</p><p>They sit and they watch Friday stitch the footage back together, which is slow going, with hiccups and setbacks and it’s nerve wracking, to say the least, so Tony checks on William again. They find out that they did move him after that night, but Tony can’t see where just yet, which also does wonders for their nerves. He knows a lot of his technology is invasive, but shit, these guys deserve to be invaded. He wasn’t lying when he said he doesn’t use it otherwise. Just for little rats like William, when they crawl into their holes. Just when the mere mention of Peter’s name by some housewife sunning in her backyard might send his kid back into prison. </p><p>So he activates facial recognition tracking and looks for William again, so they can keep up with him.</p><p>And they follow the man who found them this morning. They sit there and eat all the shit Tony brought out and follow his little stupid dot on its little stupid journey, and Peter’s eyes keep cutting over to the TV, still off.</p><p>“It’d be better if we keep avoiding the news,” Tony says, gently.</p><p>“I know,” Peter says, clenching his hands in his lap. “Yeah, uh. Yeah.”</p><p>“I know it’s not hard to imagine what they’re saying—”</p><p>“Oh, for sure—”</p><p>“But with this, it’s the one time it’s usually worse than you’re imagining,” Tony says. “Coming from someone who’s dealt with the media on more than one occasion.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Peter says. He takes a whole handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth. “It feels like a burning building that I’m not running into. Like I need to—watch it so I know what to fix.”</p><p>“Nope,” Tony says. “We know what to fix. We know what’s going on. Don’t need to see all their talking points and their harping and their bullshit.”</p><p>Peter sighs, a sigh too heavy for him, and Tony is about to tell him to go nap or something when he catches sight of the dot again. The stupid, red dot they tracked all the way from the last safe house. He’s in New York now, and he’s not going into hiding, he’s not retreating into the mountains, he’s not searching himself for a goddamn tracker like Tony would after an encounter like he had. Not that he’d find anything, anyway, but still.</p><p>No, he goes directly to the Oscorp lab in Hell’s Kitchen.</p><p>Tony stares, a high pitched noise going off in his ears, and he turns the sound back on from when they’d muted it before. This lab isn’t exactly advertised as such, no big signs like Norman normally tends to throw up, but Tony knows it’s a fucking lab so other people must know, too.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Peter asks. </p><p>“He’s in an Oscorp lab,” Tony says, gaze intent, even though they can’t see him.</p><p>Peter’s eyes narrow, concerned, mimicking the own heaviness in Tony’s brow. They listen, and he wishes they had a visual, too, but the asshole clearly has no idea he’s being tracked, or that he’s being recorded, that every move he’s making is being saved to a Stark server.</p><p>Does he know? There’s no way he fucking knows. He reported what happened earlier to the guys that picked him up. There’s no fucking way he knows. </p><p>They hear beeping, footsteps, some talking. Then an elevator.</p><p>The man sighs. Then there’s another voice that’s not his. </p><p>“You think he’s gonna let you live?”</p><p>“I’d be heading for the hills already if I didn’t think so. We knew this was a possibility, the asset is strong.”</p><p>“And the asset has Iron Man for a babysitter.”</p><p>Tony and Peter share a look. The asset?</p><p>“It was the asset on his own that got me,” the man says. “I wasn’t paying good enough attention. They should have tracked him in the Raft, I don’t know why they didn’t implement tracking for such a high value target. They had him.”</p><p>“Plans were disrupted, as you well know,” the other man says. There’s silence, and Tony feels a creeping down his spine. Peter is just staring straight ahead, but he’s leaning in Tony’s direction.</p><p>“I don’t know much about their plans. Just knew that they had them. Just knew my orders.”</p><p>Another beep. </p><p>“Good luck.”</p><p>Their man doesn’t respond but they can hear his footsteps, his breathing. Tony sees Friday identifying the voices, listing their names out on the bottom of the screen, but he doesn’t recognize either one of them. He sees her store the information away. </p><p>The man walks for what feels like a lifetime, and Tony’s mind goes a mile a minute, wondering what the fuck is about to happen here. He doesn’t like them calling Peter the asset, but he knows something shady has been going on since the get-go, and maybe he’s about to find out just what the fuck it is.</p><p>They hear some more beeping, a scanning noise, and then some muffled sloshing sound like the man is running his hands over his chest. The recorder is small, nearly undetectable, but Tony hopes he doesn’t lodge it loose if he touches it again.</p><p>There’s a familiar voice.</p><p>“—yeah, we know, we’re highly aware, you just stay put,” Norman Osborn says. “Stay put, stay under, we’ll get back on the road. This is just a hiccup, and your job is done. If anyone sees you, that’s all your work swept aside, and that’s—no, I’m aware, Mr. Muldoon, I’m aware of Stark’s past transgressions—yes, we’ve been through this—”</p><p>“What the fuck is happening?” Peter snaps, and his panic radiates over him in a wave. “Muldoon, that’s—is he—Osborn, what, is that—”</p><p>“It sounds like he’s on the phone with him,” Tony says, reaching out and putting what he hopes is a steady hand on Peter’s shoulder. But he’s feeling queasy too, like the earth is quavering beneath his feet.</p><p>They keep listening, anyway.</p><p>“I have to go, Herman,” Osborn says. “We’ll catch up.”</p><p>There’s silence, some background noise, and the man doesn’t say anything. Tony doesn’t know if they’re alone, but he figures they must be.</p><p>This is reporting in. </p><p>This is Norman’s operation. </p><p>Jesus Christ. Norman fucking Osborn.</p><p>“What happened?” Norman asks, calm. Too calm, the icy kind of calm that has a roar beneath it. Tony has a feeling he already knows.</p><p>“We were in the vicinity of where your local officers received the tip,” the man says. “I went off northwest and was traversing through backyards searching for the asset and the subject, but then the asset himself—found me and overwhelmed me, sir. I woke up a while later, called for pickup and came straight here.”</p><p>“They left you behind?” Norman asks.</p><p>“They were following their own paths,” the man says. “They weren’t aware I was down.”</p><p>Norman sighs loud. Tony’s had a few conversations with the man in his lifetime, each one like a new notch of insanity, but he sounds especially unhinged now, in his tone, in the way he’s breathing. Tony can picture him standing there—the image of unabashed power, shaking and teetering with the ways in which he can abuse it. His back bows with all the possibilities. They curl in his hands. </p><p>“You know we’ve gone to great lengths to get the asset where we had him,” Norman says. “You know the things we put in place. You know all we had to do.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” the man says, despite saying he didn’t know anything to the other guy in the elevator. Tony wonders what they told him. What his orders were, and if he’s followed them blindly. If everyone else has too. </p><p>“Mr. Beck’s sacrifice was only the beginning,” Norman says. “It made everything possible for me and a whole generation beyond our own to benefit from what working on the asset could bring. He’s ours, legally. What happened to him initially is because of us. You understand this, correct?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” the man says, and Tony almost thinks he can hear his heartbeat. </p><p>“There is an entire underground lair in the Raft where the asset should be right now, if we were on track,” Norman says, his voice twisting into something more sinister. “Our trials were being conducted. Everything was in place. We revamped that entire goddamn prison to our specifications, we moved prisoners around who would target him more easily, we transferred out the guards that might be sympathetic to his plight, we paid—you know how much we paid. You got that payment too, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” the man says. That’s all he fucking knows how to say.</p><p>Peter is shaking. Tony scoots his chair a little closer to him, resting his hand at the base of his neck.</p><p>“We are the ones who made Spider-Man,” Norman says, softly. “And this was our opportunity to take him apart to build something new.”</p><p>Tony feels a burning in the pit of his stomach, and Peter hangs his head. </p><p>“This has to be handled with the utmost precision,” Norman says, and they can hear his shoes clicking against tile. “The asset cannot be killed. We need him. And the subject, Stark—despite what he did, we cannot kill him either. It wouldn’t play well and it might—it might sway the public away from where we’ve led them. We have to get the asset back. Under lock and key and into the goddamn restraints we made for him. There are steps to this, important steps. Precision, Mr. Hartner. Precision.”</p><p>“Sir, once I go back out there—”</p><p>“Oh, you think you’re going back out there?” Norman laughs, the bitterness of it nearly seeping into the room. “No. You’re not going back out there. I just wanted to—well, it’s not often we get to discuss these things out loud, is it? Even on our own grounds.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>Norman sighs again, like he’s entirely done with this conversation, despite being the one who wanted to have it. He’s constantly posturing. Loves to hear himself talk and jabber on. Tony should have fucking known he was involved. He should have fucking known. Beck was a dramatic asshole, but he never was a leader. He was always a pawn.</p><p>And Tony can feel what’s coming next.</p><p>“I just needed you to know the gravity of your failure,” Norman says. “Allowing the asset to overpower you. It’s not time for the asset to overpower any of us. It’s time for us to keep the asset down, to use him as we see fit, to create things from him that will lift us higher and put us ahead. And after this, you simply aren’t part of ‘us’ anymore.”</p><p>“Sir—” </p><p>They can hear the man start, hear his shoes against the ground. Trying to move away.</p><p>“Sir, no, don’t—”</p><p>A little flick, hardly audible, but then they hear his body dropping in a heavy heap. The audio recorder must be jostled when the man—Hartner—falls. Tony can hear Norman sigh again, and Tony glances at Peter.</p><p>“Friday, keep recording, save eighteen different files of all of this shit, send them to different encrypted servers and keep recording,” Tony says. “But turn it off, okay? We don’t need to hear any more.”</p><p>“Yes, Boss,” Friday says. “On it.”</p><p>Tony rubs Peter’s back, squeezes his shoulder, and feels his own guts turning inside out. He doesn’t know if it’s because of what they just heard or the fact that his body is fucking failing, and it better not be failing, it better not be failing.</p><p>“Boss,” Friday says.</p><p>“Yeah?” Tony says, in the new silence. </p><p>“Currently working on getting Quentin Beck’s location from the phone call Norman Osborn was on and from the EDITH user database combined. I should have him located by the end of today.”</p><p>That nearly knocks him out.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Peter breathes. </p><p>“Uh, thanks, Fri,” Tony says, head spinning, and he feels like he’s on another planet for a second, the whole of him raw, like an exposed nerve. He doesn’t need this right now, or ever, in fact, but now especially because Peter is having a moment, a very well-earned moment of panic because <em>the asset</em> and because <em>underground lair in the Raft</em> and because <em>under lock and key and into the goddamn restraints we made for him</em>—</p><p>It makes Tony feel sick, too. There was just enough information there for his imagination to go wild, and the only reason Norman spilled that much was because he was planning on killing that man.</p><p>“We’ve got him on murder,” Peter says, voice shaking. “With that.”</p><p>“<em>We</em> know that,” Tony says. “But it can be painted a different way. You’ve seen how they manipulate evidence, you’ve been in their courtroom circus. We heard the sound, we know, but he can play it off like it was something else.”</p><p>“He laid out half his shit concerning me,” Peter says, louder. “So that too.”</p><p>“He did,” Tony says, swallowing hard. “And it’s solid. It’s important. And it makes me fucking sick and I sort of feel like I’m gonna collapse right now, but we need—we need to have Beck. In hand. To use this.”</p><p>“Are you okay?” Peter asks, grabbing onto his arm. </p><p>Tony wishes he hadn’t said it. Peter has instilled in him this obligation to be honest, even though his own shit isn’t important right now, even though Norman was just fucking talking about experimenting on his kid, and after what they already did to him, they were planning on doing worse? Worse? A whole fucking lair under the Raft? Restraints? Peter’s already got trauma from the fucking handcuffs they snapped around his wrists every day, and the bruises and wounds are still there from that, from being made to fight that way, from being snapped onto the wall for a whole fucking night when he wasn’t sure if they were even gonna come for him again—</p><p>—and Tony’s getting up before he means to, one hand braced on Peter’s shoulder and the other reaching up and covering his eyes, because the things he’s imagining are playing out in front of him, like his mind’s eye has projected itself out onto the world, the gory mess of it, Peter strapped to a table in the darkness, screaming and writhing while Norman oversees, and they’re close to fixing this but they’re not close enough, it’s good but it can be torn down, too, they can, they will, they have—</p><p>“Tony?” Peter’s voice says, faraway. </p><p>
  <em>Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good.</em>
</p><p>He feels the way he snapped his fingers, the sorrow in how everything snuck down his body, leaving the scars, and they’re lighter now but they’re still there and even with grey hair, people would know it’s him because of the scars, even though none of them have seen him since before he time traveled, they’ll know, because they know what he did—scars, scars, his life is a scar, he’s a scar on Peter’s life, and he has him here but can he keep him? Can he stop them from taking him again?</p><p>Tony is prickling fear all over. It hits him like a freight train, like too many memories with coiling hands and sharp tendrils.</p><p>He doesn’t want to go down—</p><p>—goddamn failure, constant failure—</p><p>—but he collapses, anyway.</p><p>~</p><p>He wakes up to cold water. A wash cloth. Peter gasping.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Peter says. “God, you scared me to death. What the hell.”</p><p>Tony’s face is cold where Peter’s dabbing at it but his cheeks heat up with embarrassment all the same. He’s splayed on the longer part of the couch, feet propped up on the heart-shaped pillow. All the little trinkets on the shelves stare down at him in judgment. </p><p>“I told you collapse was incoming,” Tony says, stupidly. “Jesus, kid, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It was only five minutes—”</p><p>“Thank God—”</p><p>“But it still scared me,” Peter says. He’s kneeling next to him on the floor and Tony hates it but he feels better now, like a few minutes of plain unconsciousness was exactly what he needed. He doesn’t want to have scared Peter, though, especially after what they just heard.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Webs,” Tony says, reaching over and ruffling his newly blond hair. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Peter says, with a sigh. He rests his forehead on the edge of the couch and Tony brushes his hair back again, feeling particularly paternal and protective over him after hearing the fringes of Norman’s plans. </p><p>
  <em>Nope, you can’t have him. You can’t fucking have him.</em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry there’s such an evil fuck out there that thinks he’s got any right to you,” Tony says, letting go of him and pinching the bridge of his own nose. “I’m sorry I’m not—I’m sorry I’m not better—”</p><p>“Stop,” Peter says, looking up again. “You’re the best.”</p><p>Tony scoffs. “What we did hear, like you said, like I said, it’s—it’s important, and once we find Beck, or once Friday does, we can go get his dumb fucking ass—”</p><p>“Why don’t we just send the information to Rhodey?” Peter asks. “When we find out Beck’s location? Cut out the middleman, us, because we’re still criminals right now, technically. So if we send the information to Rhodey, he can go with some of the government officials that aren’t corrupt or whatever and then they’ll grab him and they’ll see for themselves. And then we’ll send the Norman tape and everything will fall apart for them and they’ll have to clear me and let us go. I mean, they can still try and pin the attacks on me but—”</p><p>“—if Beck’s alive, he faked his death for a reason,” Tony says, looking at him. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, a little quiet. “I mean, I wanna go there. I wanna confront him. He—it still bothers me, what he did, what I did, all—all that shit.” He shakes his head, still angry with himself, clearly. “I don’t want to put Rhodey or anybody else in harm’s way but, that—that includes you,” Peter says, meeting his eyes.</p><p>“Pete—”</p><p>“He could be ready for us,” Peter says. “It’s not like sneaking up on William. Or knocking out some guy like Hartner in the bushes. It’s Beck, and he’s—he’s crazy, and dangerous, and being so crazy makes him even more dangerous.”</p><p><em>Especially with Norman behind him</em>, Tony thinks. </p><p>“I’m not gonna pass out in front of him,” Tony says, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m fine. Dandy.”</p><p>“You’re not fine,” Peter says, immediately sitting next to him, holding onto his arm. “Or dandy. Anything close to dandy. You—probably need to be in a hospital.”</p><p>Tony gags. “No. Too much of that. Disgusted with it.”</p><p>Peter sighs, and they both sit back, shoulder to shoulder. Tony has so many things to say but they all don’t feel right, because Norman ruined the kid’s life so he could fucking kidnap him <em>legally</em> and experiment on him in the dank dark basement of the worst prison on the face of the earth. </p><p>What does he want to do? What does he want to do to him?</p><p>Whatever it is, fuck that. It’ll never happen. Tony would die first. And then he’d resurrect and kill Norman for even thinking about it.</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, after a minute. “When we get it, the location, we’ll—we’ll send it to Rhodey, encrypted, so only he or Pepper can open it. With...instructions...shit, I don’t know.”</p><p>“We’ll figure it out,” Peter says, sounding older than he is. Tony wonders how much everything he goes through ages him. Peter is one of the brightest, liveliest kids Tony has ever known. He doesn’t want anyone to take that from him. As much as they try. Peter clears his throat and looks away. “I don’t want to be annoying, I just—I’m just saying, I almost lost you once. It felt like I did lose you. And I know you wanna protect me and everything and like, that means the world to me, everything you’ve done for me is beyond anything I’ll ever deserve—”</p><p>“Peter,” Tony says, heart dipping with latent hurt.</p><p>“—but I remember all that like it’s still happening right in front of me, the snap, everything—all of it after, and I love you and I just—I can’t lose you again. That’s it. Okay? That’s why I’m saying, I just—”</p><p>“I love you too,” Tony says, trying to pour his thoughts and feelings into it, looking at him, so he really believes it. “You’re not gonna lose me.”</p><p>“You’re not gonna lose me either,” Peter says. </p><p>Tony feels like he’s gonna lose <em>it</em>, because this kid doesn’t deserve anything he’s dealt with, anything he’s been through. Tony wishes he could turn the world inside out for his kids. He wishes he could fix it up right, just for them. </p><p>“Okay,” Tony says again, voice breaking a little with emotion. He tries to stand, gritting his teeth. He gets to his feet, his legs a little wobbly, and Peter stands with him, concerned. “Okay, I’m gonna feed you again because that’s all I’m fucking capable of doing. And I’m barely capable of that.”</p><p>“I’m gonna be fat after this,” Peter says, helping him around the coffee table, as the grandfather clock starts to clang. “I thought I’d, you know, lose weight being <em>on the run</em>.”</p><p>“Oh no,” Tony says, pointing them in the direction of the kitchen. “You’re gonna be the walking representation of non-perishable food. Except for the apples. Shit, I wish we had an apple tree here, too.”</p><p>Peter snorts, holding onto his elbow as they walk. “You need to drink water. And stop moving around. And take more of your elixir. You literally just dropped on me, you’re not getting out of this. I’m gonna be the mother hen right now instead of you. Deal with it.”</p><p>Tony laughs, trying not to focus on his dizziness. Goddamnit, Peter is precious cargo. Tony thinks about Norman again, his plans, how he did all this, how he used Beck and rearranged the Raft and put it all into place.</p><p>He wants to kill him. He wants to kill them both.</p><p>~</p><p>Tony watches Peter eat what they managed to scrounge up, black beans and rice and spaghetti. Friday is doing about a hundred different things and Tony brings up more than one screen so that they can keep track of it all, and he worries he’s going to run her down. Peter demanded her to keep scanning Tony, so his own vitals are also blaring on one of the screens, as are the results of her periodic scans. </p><p>Tony chews and glances at the EDITH mainframe triangulating with Norman’s phone call, trying to work in tandem, since the call is being plucked from the phone lines in that area. They weren’t actually connected to his phone, unfortunately. But EDITH is helping fill in the gaps. </p><p>“I’m sorry Fury saddled you with EDITH,” Tony says. “It’s been something I’ve been working on since long before Iron Man was even a thing—the newest models weren’t meant to be weaponized unless it was some end of the world type shit, I knew I wanted it to be yours after the Vulture incident but it wasn’t <em>right</em> yet—”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Peter says. “Really.”</p><p>It’s not, but he feels he’s repeating himself. It’s one of those things he knows he can’t change but it drives him extra crazy. Fury should have known better. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t <em>dead yet. </em></p><p>But he guesses he was as good as dead, to them. </p><p>“There’s a lot of things I’d do differently,” Peter says. “Like, a lot. Looking back at it. Especially with EDITH. But now it’s—she’s working on the footage, and it’s helping us find him, so—I’m glad I had it, I guess.”</p><p>Tony sighs, nodding, glancing out the front window. The sun is down again and Tony wonders if they should just stay here tomorrow as opposed to picking up and moving again. This is one of the houses that looks the most ‘lived in’, and maybe it feels a little bit more like real life, for both him and the kid. </p><p>Real life, in terms of a life he never had. His mother never got to be a grandma, whether she is in name now or not, and he doubts her house would have looked like this anyways, if she made it to this age. Especially if his father had stayed alive, too. But maybe this is the kind of thing he wants to emulate. Maybe the cabin, his cabin—it was a hiding spot, sure. It was cutting himself off from the world because his shame was too big to be around other people. </p><p>But maybe he can try it again, without shame? Maybe closer to people this time, but still homey, still safe, still new? He can make a home. He doesn’t have to be all sharp edges and modern architecture. The circumstances were wrong, but the cabin was a start. He wants to be that guy. He wants to set down roots. He wants to be a real person, for once in his life. </p><p>Peter sits up straight at the exact moment Friday flashes red. </p><p>“Tony—”</p><p>“Boss, there’s a perimeter breach,” Friday says. “Coming from above—”</p><p>Something in him tilts.</p><p>“Shit,” Tony says, stumbling out of his seat. They should have been monitoring the sky. Why is the alert so goddamn late? What the fuck? He put all those protocols into place. How the fuck did this happen? How did this fucking happen? “We gotta go,” he says, grabbing Peter’s arm.</p><p>He was supposed to protect him, and somehow, he’s failed again. How? How? He put everything into place, things that didn’t even exist before this morning.</p><p>How the hell is this happening? How did they find them?</p><p>“They’re in the house,” Peter says, his eyes flashing. </p><p>“What?” Tony says, hesitating too long. He holds onto him tighter, his anger and fear flaring like fireworks. “No, what—we gotta go. We gotta go.”</p><p>How? How? <em>HOW?</em></p><p>“I have to fight,” Peter says, wrenching away from him, and Tony clocks the pronoun, the <em>I</em> and not the <em>we</em>, and Peter grabs his webshooters. Tony thinks about how much he’s failed him and everything he’s done wrong and swooning like a goddamn maiden in a Byron poem not even two hours ago, and before he even knows it Peter is surging through the living room and heading for the stairs.</p><p>“No, no,” Tony says, rushing after him. “Friday, how many? How many?”</p><p>“Two—”</p><p>She stops and Peter stops and Tony stops too. Peter’s little gasp is hanging in the air but he’s not charging, he’s not rushing forward, despite having the webshooters on his wrists already. Tony sees the figures at the top of the landing and he feels the pull in his chest, and it’s not the same as when he saw the man this morning, him and the promise of more to come. No, this pull is different, and it doesn’t even pull him in front of Peter like he was intending. </p><p>Peter isn’t moving. Tony isn’t moving. </p><p>The two figures walk down the stairs and into the light of the main hallway, and all the fight goes out of Tony like someone punching him in the stomach. He stands there like a moronic statue, his face burning with uncertainty and confusion and about a hundred question marks dancing around his head. His eyes water. His brain explodes. </p><p>Steve and Natasha.</p><p>Steve and Natasha. </p><p>Both a little worse for wear but dressed like normal fucking human beings, Steve is actually wearing <em>flannel</em>, Natasha has on <em>jeans</em> and a <em>puffy jacket</em>, and Tony doesn’t know if this is a mutual hallucination between him, Peter and Friday but he stares and he stares and he can’t move. </p><p>“Hey guys,” Steve says, glancing at Natasha with a small, crooked smile on his face.</p><p>She keeps her eyes on them, smiling too. Both of them smiling, both of them here, both alive, not dead not in the past not dead not dead. </p><p>Not dead. Not dead on an alien planet, never to be seen again. Not lost in time.</p><p>Natasha laughs, and takes another couple steps down the stairs. “Long time no see.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. or it'll all be for nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony continues to stare. </p>
<p>It’s like he’s underwater, it’s like he’s in quicksand, it’s like he’s been submerged in concrete like some mobster’s latest kill because he can’t move, he can’t move, he can’t even blink, and his eyes are straining with it. Natasha’s loss was full-body horror, complete and utter failure after everything they’d done, and it felt like his fault, he should have been there, he shouldn’t have let her go there, he should have been present in every single timeline he sent his friends off to. He should have done it all himself, and he didn’t and she was dead. She fought for her place and reset her life and she valued them more than they deserved to be valued, and she was dead. They were her family and she was dead.</p>
<p>And Steve—after what they told him about Steve, Tony’s feelings were boiling. He buried it down because he couldn’t focus on it, because if he focused on it, it would drown him, and it would drown Peter too, by association. </p>
<p>But what the <em>fuck?</em> Why did Steve go? What in the fuck? How could he make a decision like that? How? <em>How?</em></p>
<p>The feelings flare up again now as Tony looks at him, but looking at him means—he’s here. He’s here. They’re both here. It goes against everything Tony knew or thought he knew and he feels a little bit like he’s gonna drop again. He wants to step closer to Peter but his feet are nailed to the ground. </p>
<p>“Are—wait,” Peter stammers, and he starts breathing faster, closing the distance between him and Tony before Tony can do it. “Wait. Tony, this could be Beck. He—all his illusions—”</p>
<p>“It’s not,” Steve says, his hands up in surrender. “Tony—”</p>
<p>Peter’s fear snaps Tony back into something useful, and he steps in front of the kid, who’s starting to become paralyzed with what he’s dealt with. He doesn’t know if he can trust Friday with this, because how the hell did they get in here to begin with? But—</p>
<p>“I got past some of your protocols,” Natasha says, her hands up now too, and neither one of them moves, because they know how Tony is and they know in particular how he is about the kid. <em>If they know, then it’s them, right? Actually them?</em> “But that’s just me, I doubt everybody could—”</p>
<p>“Need some proving, immediately,” Tony says, throat tight. “You were dead and you were—gone, so I’m gonna need some facts Beck wouldn’t know and quick. There’s plenty of that with the real Steve and Natasha, so chop chop, before I explode the entire fucking house—”</p>
<p>“Before you what—” Peter starts, but Tony shakes his head. <em>C’mon, buddy, I’d never explode you.</em></p>
<p>“After all that bullshit with Hammer and Vanko I helped you get rid of all the alcohol in your house,” Natasha says, eyes boring into his. “And you had that bottle of the 1997 Amarone and you cried thinking of getting rid of it and we decided to send it to Fury. And you were so mad when he drank it with his hamburger dinner even though you love hamburgers—”</p>
<p>Well, he did that alone with Natasha, so Beck couldn’t have known. Could he have tracked the bottle of wine? Found out where it came from? Is he overthinking? <em>Yes</em>, but he has every fucking right—</p>
<p>“Nobody but us knows about the night after Bruce’s birthday party,” Steve says, widening his eyes, and Tony immediately knows what he’s talking about. “When everyone else was asleep and I stepped on the nail and you—”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tony says, in a wave. “Okay.”</p>
<p>“That’s enough?” Peter asks, looking at him.</p>
<p>Tony’s already overwhelmed, he doesn’t need to get deep into one of his most important friendship moments with Steve right now. “That’s enough,” he says. </p>
<p>
  <em>It’s them. It’s them.</em>
</p>
<p>His throat goes tight again and he’s almost more panicked now that he knows it’s true, that they’re actually here. “Wh—how—how’s, how—what the—”</p>
<p>They both start down the stairs now that they know they can, and Natasha heads directly for Peter. She takes him by the shoulders, and Tony sees that soft look in her eye that only flashed there on rare occasions. “We never got to formally meet,” she says. “I’m Natasha, and we’re gonna help you two, alright?”</p>
<p>Peter doesn’t say anything, he just nods at her, and she pulls him into a hug. </p>
<p>Steve is in front of Tony before he even realizes it, and Tony feels strange. Strange, because when they linked back up again after all those years, it felt like a whirlwind, it felt fake, none of it felt like it was actually him, actually Steve, actually any of them. The time traveling, seeing Howard, Natasha’s death, all the research, the fighting, the almost dying. It felt like a fever dream, but now—this feels fake in a different way, because he’s been struggling through this hell to finally get to a real place, a place where life can go on and be normal—well, normal for them. No Peter in danger, no more big purple aliens, just...safe. Calm. He wouldn’t say he’d gotten used to the idea of Steve not being here, because he didn’t, but him actually <em>being here</em>, and Natasha too—Tony’s brain doesn’t know how to accept it. It wants to, but it doesn’t know <em>how.</em></p>
<p>He can’t remember the last time he felt normal. The last time things felt manageable. In the park, with Pepper? Before that wormhole opened up in the sky? Somewhere after that second press conference after Afghanistan, when he let the world know who he was?</p>
<p>He doesn’t fucking know. He doesn’t know. He finally took the step with Pepper after that. He found the Avengers, he found Peter, he had Morgan. Life is messy and it keeps getting messier and he feels too far from calm, now.</p>
<p>Steve’s appearance, with Natasha, is good. It’s good. But it’s anything but calm.</p>
<p>And Steve is regarding him like he has some kind of idea about the war going on in Tony’s head right now. He reaches out and grips his shoulder, which makes this all the more real, and Tony vaguely hears Peter asking Natasha about Friday, like he’s worried her getting past the protocols could mean trouble.</p>
<p>“I returned the stones,” Steve says, breaking the spell. “And it was hard, Tony, some of them—it was difficult, especially doing it on my own. But when I got to Vormir, it was—there was someone there I never would have expected, and then—when I returned the soul stone, she was—it was almost like an exchange. I gave it back, and it—gave her back to me. I don’t know how it works, she was just—right there. Behind me.”</p>
<p>“Jesus,” Tony says, swaying on his feet. </p>
<p>“So I had to—go get her a device too, so we could come back. And we’ve been staying on the down low. No one knows we’re back, or that we’re alive, but you two.”</p>
<p>That makes Tony think about something he hasn’t really thought about before now, maybe in bursts, maybe in passing, and it’s something that deserved more of his attention, something else he hasn’t really had time for. But now it’s hitting him in a devastating wave, pinpricks all over and a throbbing headache spreading at the front of his skull.</p>
<p>He steps back a bit. Away from Steve, more towards Peter. </p>
<p>“Jesus,” he says. “You guys were around when he was dealing with all of this shit in London, you were around when all the garbage was happening to him afterwards, while I was out of fucking commission and my family was struggling to stay afloat and help Peter, and you just—stayed back?” He scoffs as they share a look, and his anger starts to override all the other feelings he was having, mostly relief. “I know you don’t know him, but...Jesus. I thought it was bad enough that Fury dragged him into it, claiming everyone else was just—busy, but you guys were <em>here</em> and no one knew it and you could have helped him and you—didn’t.”</p>
<p>Steve looks down at the ground. Tony has seen regret on his face many a time, and he knows what it looks like, and he doesn’t say anything to defend himself.</p>
<p>“Tony,” Peter says. “It’s okay. I don’t blame them or anybody else. It’s okay.”</p>
<p>Before Tony can speak, Natasha does.</p>
<p>“It’s not,” she says. “And we regret it. There aren’t really any excuses—I figured Fury knew what he was doing, because he usually does, and you handled everything with such grace—”</p>
<p>“Of course he did,” Tony says. “That’s what he does. But that’s just what you saw from the outside. He got hit by a goddamn train. Beck tortured him with illusions. And now all <em>this</em>.”</p>
<p>“We should have gone,” Natasha says, and she swallows hard. “Like I said, there’s...no excuse.”</p>
<p>“That’s why we’re here now,” Steve says, looking back up at them. “We wanted to help. We wanted to see what you needed, what we could do for you guys from our position. It took us a while to find you, you’ve been covering your tracks well—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, as we should,” Tony says, crossing his arms over his chest. His right one has felt worse today, and he feels like he might need to put the healing pod back on. “I don’t know how the hell she even—”</p>
<p>“Would it help if I said it was really difficult?” Natasha says. </p>
<p>“Are you lying?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“No,” she says, and he narrows his eyes.</p>
<p>“But we’re still safe?” Peter asks. “You said, right? We’re—we’re still hidden?”</p>
<p>“You are,” she says. “I promise.”</p>
<p>Tony reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, and then he covers his face with his hands. He knows this is good and he’s unbelievably relieved and the betrayal he was feeling is starting to break apart, but the anger at Peter’s lack of assistance is replacing it. If he was awake, he would have been there. He knows he’s a special case, he knows he’s close with Peter, but shit, isn’t Steve all about taking down bullies? Beck is the ultimate bully, no—<em>Norman</em> is the ultimate bully. Peter is a teenager and he was being beaten down and someone should have <em>been there</em>. Especially if they had the advantage of being hidden, like Steve and Nat did, like Pepper and Rhodey <em>didn’t.</em></p>
<p>Tony feels like yelling some more, but he has a feeling that’s a direct line to being splayed out on the ground again. And despite everything, his eternal disappointment that he knows is somewhat misplaced, he’s just <em>glad</em> to see them. Glad that they’re here, alive, safe, and that he’s got backup to help Peter. Because his own doubts in himself override everything else most of the time, and he’s consistent in feeling like he’s not strong or good enough to protect this kid. </p>
<p>And these two are better than him. He’d never say it out loud, to save face, to maintain that persona that the rest of the world knows. But they are. They just are. Natasha can do anything and Steve is just—Steve. Steve is a shining example of what every person should strive for, whether he’d admit it or not.</p>
<p>He’s about to say something, he doesn’t know what, when Friday speaks up.</p>
<p>“Boss,” she says. “I’ve triangulated Beck’s location.”</p>
<p>All four of them look over at the screen, which is still shimmering above the dining room table. </p>
<p>“You tracked him down?” Steve asks, eyes wide. “He’s alive?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, we’ve...we’ve been making some progress,” Tony says. He feels messy, all over the place, and they still haven’t properly addressed everything Norman said and how it made Peter feel. He thinks this shit is hard on <em>him</em>, but he knows it’s ten times fucking worse for Peter.</p>
<p><em>That’s next</em>, he thinks, as he walks over to the screen, the rest of them on his heels. He doesn’t know what they’re gonna do, but whether Steve and Natasha are still here or not, he’s gotta try to take Peter aside and let him get it all out, if he wants to. About what they heard. What Norman was planning.</p>
<p>What he still is planning.</p>
<p>What Tony will fucking never let happen, even if it kills him.</p>
<p>Friday has a map up and Tony sees all the backdoors and phone lines she had to go through to get the location, but they all point to one dot, blinking on and off in dark red.</p>
<p><em>Him</em>. There he is. The one who fucking hurt Peter, the one who upended his life, the one who was used like a fucking pawn by Norman Osborn because, what? Because Tony fired him? For stealing information, for trying to weaponize a project that was never meant to be weaponized? Tony thinks about everything Peter told him and seethes. The direct actions Beck took, like the illusions and the targeting and the goddamn <em>train</em>. And all the indirect actions, like what happened to Peter in the Raft. All Beck wanted was chaos and pain. He would have stepped in to help Norman no matter why Norman wanted it to happen. </p>
<p>Tony stares at the dot and <em>hates.</em></p>
<p>“That’s in Canada,” Natasha says, leaning over next to him. Tony glances at her, and he’s still a little shocked by her presence <em>period</em>, remembering like it was yesterday how he felt when Clint told them she was gone. </p>
<p>It’s strange, how the world changed, how it’ll ebb and flow under their machinations and encouragements. Peter was dead, now he’s back. Natasha was dead, now she’s back. </p>
<p>They changed those things. They can change this too. </p>
<p>A weird, dim light bulb goes off in Tony’s head. “Pete,” he says, glancing to his right to find the kid there, staring strangely at the dot like he can’t believe he’s seeing it. “You said you wanted to cut us out of the equation? Not go there ourselves to get him—”</p>
<p>Steve already sees where he’s going with this. “We can go,” he says. “It’d be a couple days trip for you guys, but we’ve got a stealth quinjet—”</p>
<p>“<em>You have a stealth quinjet?</em>” both Tony and Peter say at the same time.</p>
<p>“We’ve got a lot of things,” Natasha says, sly. “But yeah, we’ll go. We’ll get him.”</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” Steve says. </p>
<p>“You need to hook up with Rhodey first,” Tony says. “Or at least send him a notification about what you’re doing. It’ll be easier to handle if he brings a team of unbiased people and you all discover him together. You know we have to play this a certain way.”</p>
<p>They glance at each other and nod.</p>
<p>“We can go now—” Natasha says. “It’s getting late but it’s easier to go under the cover of night, stealth or not.”</p>
<p>Tony feels Peter go a little stiff, beside him. </p>
<p>~</p>
<p>While Iron Man has always been Peter’s favorite, he always loved Captain America and Black Widow, too. The love waned a little bit, though not when most people would expect—he was still a fan during the whole fight with Steve, but he was angry when he saw Tony after the fact, when Happy spilled about what happened. And Natasha went with Steve, these people who Peter knows Tony always saw as family, when they could have figured things out, could have worked together, could have stuck together and worked through the issue like families should—</p>
<p>But Peter knows they’re past it, now. He knows they all worked together to fix the world, that they put their rift behind them, and he can see in Tony’s eyes how happy he is to see them, despite his other concerns and his need to protect Peter from just about everything, including the people who he thinks failed to protect him.</p>
<p>Peter knows all of this is time sensitive. That Beck could move and it might be hard to find him again. But a strange part of him, something small and young that’s survived all this, wants them to stay. At least for a little while. They just got here, Natasha is <em>alive</em> and Steve isn’t choosing to stay in the past or whatever the hell they all thought when he didn’t come back. </p>
<p>Peter has never had the opportunity to get to know them.</p>
<p>He’s had plenty of time with Bruce, lab days when they were both trying to pretend Tony was just resting. He’s had long, involved talks with Thor about the history of Asgard. He’s done research with Strange and Wong, trained with Wanda, he’s even babysat Clint’s kids. But Steve and Nat were gone. And now they’re here, right in front of him.</p>
<p>He tries to tell himself there will be time later. That holed up in a safe house isn’t the best way to get to know someone you don’t know at all, only through stories. And he knows, he knows that if they wait, something worse can happen. They’ll lose Beck, they’ll lose an opportunity, and they could be running forever.</p>
<p>“You okay, bud?” Tony asks, and Peter wonders how he’s giving himself away, whether it’s his face or his body language or if Tony just knows him by now. He says it gently, almost a whisper, but Peter is embarrassed anyways that the other two are seeing him zone out and go frozen.</p>
<p>Natasha steps closer to him, and she has a kind look on her face. “We’ll be careful,” she says. “We’ll make sure we do it the right way, so we don’t endanger the case.”</p>
<p>“We’ve dealt with this kind of thing before,” Steve says. “Being on the wrong side of the law.”</p>
<p>Tony clears his throat. </p>
<p>“I only mean we’re—we know what we’re doing,” Steve says, glancing at him. He looks at Peter, then, and gives him a small smile. “We’ll spend some time together afterwards,” he says. “All of us. We need a break.”</p>
<p>“I’d like that,” Peter says, like he isn’t already imagining movie nights and big dinners and stories he’s never heard and <em>God</em>, he wants this to be over. Letting them go now is the right thing, because the faster they show the world Beck is alive, the quicker this is all over.</p>
<p>Hopefully.</p>
<p>“If we talk to anyone, any of your family, even in a—stealth capacity,” Natasha says. “Is there—is there anything you want us to say to anyone in particular?”</p>
<p>Now, that’s a loaded question. He feels his mouth go dry at the thought of it, and he wonders if he’d ever be able to talk to MJ and Ned the way he talked to May. He doesn’t even know how Natasha and Steve could come across them, stealth capacity or not. </p>
<p>But he can see their faces. He can feel MJ’s hand in his. Ned’s eternal support lifting him up when he didn’t think he could ever feel normal again. </p>
<p>He speaks before he can really think. “Just tell them I love them,” he says. “Just tell them I’m...gonna come home.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>They say their goodbyes after that, and Tony talks to Steve quietly over by the door for what feels like forever. He tells him all kinds of things that even Peter, with his enhanced hearing, can’t make out. He hears bits and pieces—something about getting visual evidence of Beck, descriptions of what they heard on the Norman call, a lot of stuff about the Stark server network and what Friday is broadcasting. He hears Rhodey’s name, Sam’s and May’s too, and then they both give Peter one more hug and they leave again. </p>
<p>Tony sighs as he walks back towards him. “Sorry the meet and greet was so short, buddy,” he says. “I’m just glad it was them and not—not them.”</p>
<p>Peter is starting to feel strange. And he doesn’t even know if that’s weird because everything is weird nowadays and he’s worried about a trap, worried about being here, worried about being anywhere. Worried about Steve and Natasha making it in time, worried about what they’ll find because Beck is an asshole but he’s still smart. He’s worried about Tony because Tony’s face is pale, because his heartbeat is up, because he’s walking over and restarting the healing pod, trying to block his movements so Peter won’t see. As if he won’t see after. As if he won’t see him wearing it.</p>
<p>Peter thinks about the man Norman killed while they were listening, and he feels unsteady on his feet. The other things Norman said are building up in Peter’s head, getting bigger and bigger now that he has a moment to think, and they’re howling like new ghosts, eager to possess him and make themselves true. </p>
<p>He feels like he’s teetering. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” he asks Tony, too loud. </p>
<p>Tony narrows his eyes, and once again, his face fills up with concern. Peter knows they’ve been through this but Tony’s concern from him has put him in danger. It’s taken him away from his wife and child. Peter almost wants to run away so Tony won’t have to protect him anymore, but he knows Tony would just track him down all over again. Because he loves him, and what’s done is done. </p>
<p>“I’m okay,” Tony says, in his half-lying voice.</p>
<p>Norman’s words are slamming around in Peter’s head and making him dizzy. Peter doesn’t know if he believes him but there’s something going on in his head and it’s probably a panic attack and why didn’t this happen before? Why didn’t this happen when Tony passed out? Thank God it didn’t, because he was able to stay on top of the situation, but now, but <em>now</em>, but why <em>ever</em>? He doesn’t have time for it. The world is crumbling underneath him but Norman’s words and Norman’s plans and Norman Norman Norman—</p>
<p>“Pete—”</p>
<p>“Can I take a shower?” Peter asks, before he knows what he’s saying. “I just, I, uh, I—”</p>
<p>“You don’t need to ask me,” Tony says, stepping a little closer to him, the healing pod glowing on his arm. “You okay? You wanna talk?”</p>
<p>Peter does want to talk but Norman’s words are getting louder and louder, echoing and approaching and stifling. </p>
<p>“Uh, after,” he says, giving himself away entirely, but he knows Tony won’t push him. He knows he won’t. “Can you, uh—keep an eye on the EDITH footage? See if Friday is able to—put it together? I mean I know she’s working on it, but uh, but—”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Tony says, and he still looks like that, but now Peter can’t stop imagining him in the coma again, and all he can see is the scars, the arm, and he almost lost it and it’s really Peter’s fault, isn’t it? It’s his fault, that Tony did all that, it’s his fault he’s here, it’s his fault May is in danger, and everyone else—</p>
<p>“You’ve got a bathroom in your room with a good shower,” Tony says, walking over and squeezing his shoulder, distracting him briefly. “Or, the one that’s gonna be your room.”</p>
<p>“We’re gonna stay here tonight?” Peter asks, his mouth dry. He doesn’t know why he’s asking that. Of course they are, why wouldn’t they? They came here, they’re gonna sleep here.</p>
<p>He’s teetering he’s teetering he’s—</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “It’s late, we’ll leave in the morning. What the two of us need is a good lot of sleep.” He looks at him, like he’s trying to see through him, and Norman’s voice <em>screams</em> in Peter’s head.</p>
<p>He needs to talk he needs to talk he needs he needs he can’t he can’t he he he no no—</p>
<p>“Peter—”</p>
<p>“I’ll be right back,” Peter says, walking away from him and towards the stairs. </p>
<p>“First door on the right when you get up there,” Tony says, voice still laced with concern.</p>
<p>It feels strange, that he hasn’t explored the rest of the house yet. Tony checked it out when they got here, but Peter stayed at the bottom of the stairs. They’ve been here since morning, but the morning feels like—another life.</p>
<p>Another life and another life and another and another—</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter presses his face against the tile wall and cries. The water is hot, almost scalding, and he cries and cries and cries until his eyes swell like he’s been in a boxing match. He keeps it quiet so Tony doesn’t hear, the sobs wrenching at his throat, and for some reason he can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel now. He can’t find it in all the haze.</p>
<p>He peeks out into the bedroom when he gets out of the shower, and finds that the door is open but Tony isn’t hanging around. Peter doesn’t know if he’s listening, but then he figures he probably is, especially with the way he was acting before he got into the shower. Peter glances over at the cuckoo clock on the wall and sees that it’s a little after ten pm, and even though he’s been eating all day, his stomach rumbles. He wonders if it’s because there’s a hole inside him, if it’s because he’s missing something intrinsic that makes him a human being. Maybe he left it at the Raft. Maybe he lost it before he even got there, when the line of his future became a stormy sea.</p>
<p>Peter gently pushes the door almost all the way closed, and dries off, taking clothes out of the dresser. He sits on the edge of the bed and wonders if he’s calmed down, but he realizes pretty quickly he hasn't when his eyes land on the TV.</p>
<p>It’s something he knows he shouldn’t do. He knows it, in his bones, knows it in the way where something in his head is screaming over Norman’s own voice saying <em>don’t don’t don’t</em>, and he knows it because he and Tony discussed it, but he willfully walks over to the bedside table, picks up the remote, and turns the TV on anyway. </p>
<p>He clicks through, purposefully, knowing he should stop himself, and as soon as he lands on a news channel, he finds what he’s looking for. Or shouldn’t be looking for.</p>
<p>“<em>And we know Tony Stark is capable of terrible things</em>,” the anchor says, to the two other talking heads in his lineup. “<em>He’s probably been in on this since the start. He’s probably been grooming Parker, behind the scenes, and after this they’re both gonna go off on their super villain way—</em>”</p>
<p>“<em>Really, Joe</em>?” a red-haired woman says, in the middle of the screen. “<em>Iron Man, who saved the world?”</em></p>
<p>“<em>That was what they told us</em>,” the last man says. </p>
<p>“<em>Come on—”</em></p>
<p>“<em>No, that is what they told us,</em>” the first man says. “<em>And now we’re seeing all this, what Parker is capable of, how Stark is backing him, and this man—Parker attacked this man, this government official, and now he’s dead. How’s that not his fault?”</em></p>
<p>Peter’s heart skips. </p>
<p>“<em>Isn’t that something else they just told us?</em>” the red-headed woman says. “<em>No footage of that. Just what we were told. What kind of double standard is that? We don’t know Parker was involved at all.”</em></p>
<p>“<em>Karen, the amount of people that died in London—”</em></p>
<p>“<em>You know where I stand on that</em>,” she says. “<em>I don’t believe—”</em></p>
<p>“<em>Conspiracy theorists at their best,</em>” the last guy says. “<em>You just don’t want to accept the fact that Spider-Man is a killer and now he’s out there with another killer—”</em></p>
<p>“Pete,” Tony’s voice says.</p>
<p>Peter startles and immediately turns off the TV, like he’s been caught. And yeah, he was, he was caught, and he grips the remote so tight that it warps in his hand. He feels a cold sweat break out on his forehead when everything he just heard hits him, and he tosses the remote back on the bed.</p>
<p>“What’d we say about that?” Tony says, leaning in the doorway. He doesn’t sound angry or chastising but it stings anyway, because Peter knows, and he knew, and he did it anyway, and it hurt in the exact way Peter thought it would.</p>
<p>Tony sighs. “At least there was someone arguing for us,” he says.</p>
<p>“They think I killed that guy,” Peter says, shaking. Everything is like a tidal wave inside him, and he chews on the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. “That’s what they were saying, that’s what—I guess that’s the lie he fed them.”</p>
<p>“He’s telling a lot of goddamn lies, and we know it,” Tony says, walking into the room. “Okay? It doesn’t matter, because we’re gonna prove them wrong. Prove him wrong, show how dangerous he is. And we can, Friday is already working on getting into the security systems in his labs, and she’s cleaning up the footage that indicts Beck, it’s almost clean—”</p>
<p>His voice is straining in Peter’s head, amongst everything else. </p>
<p>And the dam breaks. </p>
<p>“He was gonna experiment on me,” Peter says, looking up with tears in his eyes. “That was already pretty much what he was doing, having—all his selected fucking guards and prisoners, all there to mess with me, to measure my powers, whatever the hell he was doing.” Peter wets his lips, blinking fast, half here and half there. Inches away from the hell he would have been in, if Tony didn’t come and get him out.</p>
<p>“Kid,” Tony says, walking over and sitting next to him. “I know hearing that, after what you went through, I know how horrible it must have been—”</p>
<p>“They drugged me one time, and I still feel it,” Peter says, swallowing hard. “And I don’t want to, I don’t want to, and it’s stupid and weak of me—”</p>
<p>“No,” Tony says, shaking his head. “No, it’s not—”</p>
<p>“I know you don’t think so,” Peter says, feeling wild, bracing one hand on his own knee. “But I do. And they told me it was either the drugs or the handcuffs each day and I never wanted the drugs again but after that I keep constantly, constantly feeling restrained, but like—if I had stayed there—”</p>
<p>“You didn’t—”</p>
<p>He shakes his head, breathing hard, and his hurts still hurt, even though most are healed. He can feel the ghost of them on his skin, and their hands on him too, leaving bruises behind and trauma, poisonous memories.</p>
<p>“But if I had, they would have drugged me and held me down,” Peter says, meeting Tony’s eyes again. He feels like he’s in a box, like he’s hitting the glass and it’s splintering all around him and he doesn’t want to destroy this nice safehouse that looks like his Grandma’s house if he had a Grandma, but his hands are shaking with fear, with anger, with disappointment. He wants to wring his own neck. “If I had stayed, they would have done worse than what they did, and the worst fucking part—”</p>
<p>“Peter, there’s no use in doing this to yourself—”</p>
<p>“The worst part is I was gonna let them,” Peter says, voice catching. “I just sat there and took it all. I fought back, sure, but I didn’t try to get out, I should have tried to get out—I knew what they did was bullshit, I knew I didn’t do what they convicted me of and I—I knew the whole trial was a sham and still I just—I just kept thinking I had to go along with the rules and stay there when they’d <em>altered</em> the rules to get me in there in the first place, it wouldn’t have mattered if I escaped because it just would have been the same thing, just like now that you rescued me they’re saying the same thing, I’m a murderer no matter what, in there or not. So why did I do that? Why?”</p>
<p>He’s breathing hard and he’s shaking and he feels like everything hurts more, and Norman’s plan binds him and chokes him and he’s <em>gasping</em> away from it. He can barely focus on Tony because it’s all crashing down, and he thought his breakdown was bad when they arrived at the first house but now this <em>this—</em></p>
<p>He gets up, starts pacing, like a ball of fire trapped in an icy room, and everything is loud and everything is cold and the hair on his arms is standing up and he’s got goosebumps and he’s going off the rails off the rails picturing what would have happened what could have happened what they’re still trying to make happen, why why why, why does Osborn want to do this to him? This is why Tony never wanted anybody to find him, because they want to take him apart—</p>
<p>“Was I just gonna let them do it?” Peter gasps, walking from one edge of the room to the other. “Would I have just laid there, allowed it? Let them experiment on me, because—because they put me there? Because the justice system said so? Even though I knew it was wrong? Even if it would have meant I—I was gonna—I was gonna die?”</p>
<p>Tony finally catches him, and holds him by the shoulders.</p>
<p>“Look at me,” Tony says, as Peter wrenches away on instinct. Tony just holds him harder, but still gently, and he steps closer, catching Peter’s gaze. “Look at me. You see me?”</p>
<p>Peter focuses a little more, less on the beat of their hearts and his own breathing and more on Tony’s face. How it’s different, how it’s the same. “I see you,” he says.</p>
<p>“Where are you right now?” Tony says. “Describe the house to me.”</p>
<p>“Uh,” Peter says, tremors in his voice, still, from all the yelling. “Like a Grandma lives here. Like she’s lived here for a long time. With lots of grandkids that buy her little weird trinkets that she loves.”</p>
<p>Tony smiles a little bit, and he squeezes Peter’s shoulder reassuringly. “What detail stands out the most to you?” he says.</p>
<p>“The grandfather clock,” Peter says, fast. He realizes that could be because he was so disconnected from time inside the Raft. Everything was done on purpose, including the way they made things seem slower, or faster. They didn’t want them to know.</p>
<p>“And what state are you in?” Tony says. “I know I saw you watching the signs.”</p>
<p>“Wyoming,” Peter says, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.</p>
<p>Tony nods. Then he squares up, and becomes serious. “You wouldn’t have let them hurt you,” he says. “You wouldn’t have just laid there and allowed it. I know you felt like giving up, I know you felt almost—complacent, because of how they handled things, but that—that asshole’s plans? Experimenting on you? Is not part of the agreement. Even if you did kill a bunch of people, kid, which you fucking didn’t, but even if you did—that does not give them free rein to <em>experiment</em> on you. You know that now, you would have known that then, and you would have gotten out no matter what they threw at you. You wouldn’t have let them get away with that and I know it and you know it.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly.</p>
<p>“But guess what? It didn’t get to that point. Remember that. Don’t think about what that asshole said or what he wanted because it’s null and void, Peter, and it will always be and he can fuck right off. It’ll never happen. Never ever. Just like I told you you’re never going back there? Norman and his goons are never gonna touch you. I won’t let them. I’ll do anything to prevent it.”</p>
<p>The air seems to be flooding back in and Peter is starting to feel less panicky and more idiotic, more apologetic. He hangs his head, chewing on his lower lip. </p>
<p>“No sorry,” Tony says, because he knows him. “No sorry, okay?”</p>
<p>Peter nods again. </p>
<p>“I know it’s hard, but don’t think about it,” Tony says, pulling him into a hug. “We’re gonna take him down. We’re gonna take them all down.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>In his dream, Peter is drowning.</p>
<p>The water is deep and dark, pitch black, so much so that he can’t see his own hands, just the tread of the water where his fingers cut through it.</p>
<p>But then he sees faces.</p>
<p>Their faces.</p>
<p>May, MJ. Tony, Ned. Steve and Nat, Morgan and Happy, everyone else. And they’re drowning too, and there are spotlights on their heads and as much as he tries, as much as he fights, he can’t get to them. He watches them crying out in agony, gurgling with water in their lungs, struggling to get to the surface, and he can’t get to them, he can’t get to them—</p>
<p>
  <em>Take him into custody</em>
</p>
<p>Norman’s voice, Norman’s, and Beck’s laughter all around, and suddenly there are hands on him, dragging him out of the water, leaving all of his family and friends to the depths below. Dying, dying, they’re dying.</p>
<p>Peter thrashes, fights, and someone takes hold of him that’s bigger than him, so much bigger that he can’t be a man at all, can’t be a human, and Peter writhes, tries to headbutt him, but he’s waterlogged, and the thing gets big arms around him from behind, tight and tight and tight until Peter can’t breathe, and then his back <em>snaps—</em></p>
<p>Peter bolts up, clutching at his chest. </p>
<p>The door is open and Tony immediately shows up out in the hallway, rushing inside. “You alright?” he asks. </p>
<p>Peter tries to center himself, reminding himself where he is and what’s going on, and he sinks back against the pillows, his eyes heavy as he looks over at Tony.</p>
<p>“Kid?” Tony asks, walking over and sitting beside him. He’s still wearing the healing pod on his right arm.</p>
<p>It’s morning.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Peter says. “Well. Bad dream, but—y’know.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Tony says, analyzing him. “Lemme get you a glass of water.” He gets back up fast, and moves into the bathroom, opening up the cabinet. Peter closes his eyes as the tap runs and tries and tries and tries to calm down, because enough is going on already and the dreams seem to be getting worse and are they getting worse—</p>
<p>
  <em>Calm down.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Calm down.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Chill the fuck out.</em>
</p>
<p>Tony walks back in and hands him the glass, sitting beside him again. Peter downs the whole thing like he’s dying of thirst, and Tony pats his ankle through the sheets. Peter is close to apologizing, just apologizing for his entire existence, at this point, but he doesn’t.</p>
<p>“The footage is ninety-nine percent done,” Tony says, and he’s not looking at him, not meeting his eyes. “I saw almost all of it, and it’s—entirely fucking damning, they’d have to delete the whole thing—well, they did do that—”</p>
<p>“But you can see it,” Peter says, staring at him, quickly putting the glass aside so he doesn’t break it. “You can see it, you can—you can see it’s him? Orchestrating it all?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you can,” Tony says, finally looking up at him. “Absolutely, there’s no doubt about it.”</p>
<p>Peter feels strange, because he was floating in the abyss for a bit there, and maybe he was almost doubting himself, his own memories, his own movements, his own eyes, his own version of events, but knowing Tony saw it too brings things into perspective—of <em>course</em> it happened the way it happened, of <em>course</em> this is all a lie—</p>
<p>“Makes me sick all over again,” Tony says, setting his jaw. “Seeing everything he did. Everything he set up. Jesus.” He shakes his head, and gets lost in it for a second, and Peter knows he’s seen some stuff that Peter hasn’t even seen, because Beck definitely wore the glasses when Peter wasn’t there. Tony sighs. “It got to the point right when he—when he tried to fucking <em>shoot you</em> and you took the glasses back.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, remembering the feeling. Remembering the pure knowing without even really knowing. And that feeling has been dull, since that moment he saw his own face on the big screen. Dull and broken somewhere within him. Like a broken clock.</p>
<p>And the one downstairs chimes the new hour. </p>
<p>“I wanna fucking kill that guy,” Tony says. “I wanna wring his goddamn neck.”</p>
<p>Peter is stuck between remembering and panicking and feeling bad Tony had to experience that shit. “I’m okay,” he says, nearly breathless, trying to cover all bases. </p>
<p>“Yeah, you are,” Tony says, pride streaking across his face amongst all the other emotions. He seems to center himself, and Peter wishes he could do it as easily as Tony seems to sometimes, but he knows Tony has had a lot of trauma and a lot of practice and a lot of setbacks. Tony clears his throat, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black square that almost looks like a lighter.</p>
<p>“This is a tracker,” he says, holding it out for Peter to take. “It’s tracking Natasha and Steve, who are a little over halfway there. It’s tracking Beck, who’s moving around erratically but all in the same area, a place called Jasper. And I caught him on camera up there, so—it’s him.”</p>
<p>Peter turns the tracker over in his hand, running his thumb over the button on the side. He feels a little bit dizzy, just imagining Beck out and about like everything is normal, like people don’t think he’s fucking dead and Peter murdered him. He and Tony have been so cautious. They only go outside when they move from place to place, and even then they changed their entire fucking looks altogether. Peter still doesn’t like looking at himself in the mirror.</p>
<p>And Beck is just—out there. Like nothing.</p>
<p>“And it’s tracking me,” Tony says. “So if, for any reason, we get separated—”</p>
<p>
  <em>Huh??</em>
</p>
<p>“We’re not going to,” Peter says, fast. He sits up more, and knows in the back of his mind that he could easily crush the tracker in his fist if he doesn’t control his panic. “We’re not.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Tony says. “But just like, to be safe. You’ll be able to find me.”</p>
<p>“Should I get a little tracker so you can find me too?” Peter asks, knowing he probably used the same kind of one he used with Hartner. </p>
<p>“If you want to,” Tony says. “I didn’t wanna force it on you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” Peter says, swallowing hard. </p>
<p>Tony nods. “I know a lot of my technology is kind of...iffy. Very iffy. So once this is all done, I— think we’re gonna disband a lot of it, or put it behind some kind of lock and key, but I’d like you to help, alright? I trust your judgement. You’re...you’re always doing what’s right.”</p>
<p>That strikes a chord that rings out inside the hollow of Peter’s chest, especially in the middle of a situation like this. He swallows hard and can’t find anything good enough to say, so he just nods. </p>
<p>But then something else pops into his head.</p>
<p>“I want to fix the prison system,” Peter says, mouth dry. “Starting with the Raft. I know it’ll be hard, I know it’ll be <em>really</em> hard and it won’t be something we can do in a day or a month or a year but I—”</p>
<p>“No, that’s...yes, we can absolutely work on that,” Tony says. “There’s obviously a kind of corruption going on with the fucking Raft that we weren’t even aware of, so we can start there and then start moving into the rest of it. It’ll be a massive project, but—”</p>
<p>“We can make it a priority,” Peter says, nodding.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Tony says, softly. “We absolutely can.” He clears his throat, and glances away, like he has something to say he doesn’t want to say. </p>
<p>“What?” Peter asks, nervous.</p>
<p>Tony wipes at his eye, runs his hand over his beard like he’s still not used to how it is now. “I want to go after Norman,” he says. “Or at least head in that direction. Once Tash and Steve get Beck, it’s all a matter of time, with everything we have already. Norman might run and if he runs, we can lose him, and even if you’re exonerated and he proves his guilt by running, he’s a harder one to catch. He’s out in the open now, and Friday can barely keep a lock on him.”</p>
<p>“What would we do?” Peter asks, heart beating loud and insane in his ears. Norman is a public figure. The idea that he’s even wrapped up in all this is gonna be difficult for the public to swallow.</p>
<p>But then again, they gave up on Spider-Man real quick.</p>
<p>Tony shrugs, laughing a little bit. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I figure we could link up with someone on the fringes, like Thor or Strange, while the others make our case, and by the time the evidence is out and being put together we’ll be on top of Norman and we can take him in along with the cops he doesn’t have on his payroll. Which I am also researching.” He clears his throat again. “We can figure it out on the way, it’s still—everything is still far away and in moving pieces—I’m letting Rhodey and Pepper into the footage servers, but it’s anonymous. As if they’ll think it’s anyone else but us, but we’ll see.”</p>
<p>Peter knows that Tony doesn’t want to take him anywhere near Norman, wants to keep him somewhere safe, but at the same time he doesn’t trust anyone else that the government doesn’t already have eyes on. And Peter doesn’t want Tony in the line of fire either, they’ve talked about this, they’ve addressed it—</p>
<p>But there’s no fixing it. So that’s that.</p>
<p>Peter just has to protect Tony from protecting him to the point where it’ll get him hurt. </p>
<p>“So when do you wanna head in that direction?” Tony asks. “It’s up to you. We’ve got a couple more stops along the way, and we can take the backroads—maybe give you some driving lessons.”</p>
<p>Peter laughs, and feels normal for a second, smiling to himself. </p>
<p>The nightmare dies in his head.</p>
<p>“After lunch?” he asks.</p>
<p>Tony nods at him. “After lunch,” he says.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Peter doesn’t mind the nonperishable food, because every time it’s better than what they had in the Raft. Tony is tempted to order a contactless delivery of pizza, maybe to one of the empty houses close by he’s scoped out, but Peter encourages him not to. He appreciates the fact that Tony is constantly trying to dole out little bits of normal, but even though they’re leaving, Peter doesn’t want to possibly out this safehouse as a place where they once were. So Tony heats up soup and makes tuna sandwiches, and seems disappointed. Peter watches him, continues to make sure that Friday is monitoring his vitals.</p>
<p>He also takes a look at some of the footage. Sees Beck in a warehouse with a bunch of other people, planning out his drone attacks. The EDITH mainframe was always recording, even when the glasses weren’t being worn, so they have a lot more material than Peter expected them to.</p>
<p>It makes him feel strange. Separate. Glad that they have it, but feeling out of his own body with the effects of everything he’s been through since these things happened, and before. </p>
<p>
  <em>It’ll be over soon. It’ll be over soon.</em>
</p>
<p>They pack up and make sure everything is secure and Peter zips the tracker inside a jacket pocket, pressing against his side. There’s a small car in the shed that looks like it can barely take them ten miles, but Tony swears up and down that looks aren’t everything and that it’ll take them where they need to go.</p>
<p>“Alright, Friday sent out feelers to Thor and Strange,” Tony says, behind the wheel, after about half an hour of driving. “Rhodey’s logged into the server and seen the footage, and Pepper’s heard the Norman bullshit.”</p>
<p>Peter nods, squeezing his backpack between his feet. “I’m worried about the, uh, biased thing again,” he says.</p>
<p>“Me too,” Tony says. “That’s why I’m sending it a few other places. People we haven’t really interacted with, people that don’t have any connections to Norman—”</p>
<p>“Not even hidden ones?” Peter asks.</p>
<p>“Not even hidden ones,” Tony says. “It sucks that we have to try and push the truth through different angles to make it believable, but that’s the sad state of fucking affairs when it comes to Norman goddamn Osborn and this whole situation.”</p>
<p>Peter wonders who else he’s reaching out to but he doesn’t ask, and he thinks about Thor trying to help him and gets emotional. He gets emotional about all of them, helping him. Every single one. He questions whether or not he deserves it. Then he looks at Tony and stops that line of thinking real fast. It undermines what he’s done, to think like that. It undermines what May is out there doing, what MJ and Ned are doing. </p>
<p>He must deserve it. If they’re in his corner. </p>
<p>They drive and they drive and Tony tells him everything he knows about Norman, talks to him about all his offices and labs, including the one where Peter got bitten by the spider before all this shit started. He’s only had that conversation with Tony once, when he first told him, and it feels like a completely different person did that. A completely different person made that decision and put him in the situation he’s in now.</p>
<p>“It surprised me, back when you told me,” Tony says. “I didn’t think that you’d be the type to go off on a field trip into a super-secret lab and nearly get yourself killed, but now I’m—not surprised at all.”</p>
<p>Peter snorts. “Yeah, that’s—that’s pretty low level for me.”</p>
<p>“You’re curious,” Tony says. </p>
<p>“Enough to—get myself killed, like you said.” Peter drums his fingers on the window and watches the miles and miles of trees go by.</p>
<p>“Well, that particular occasion—did <em>not</em> get you killed, and actually resulted in a lot of other people being saved. By you. So, that’s that.” Tony smiles, and then his face changes.</p>
<p>Peter smiles too, and he’s about to say something—maybe something hopeful, maybe something about finally introducing Tony to MJ when things are normal again, because for a brief and shining moment he’s not panicking, he’s not gripping his own hands and focusing on the scars and falling into the horror of what was, what could have been—for a brief moment the sun is out and he’s fine and they’re on their way—</p>
<p>But the moment is brief, and Peter doesn’t get to say anything at all.</p>
<p>The semi-truck comes from the woods like it knew the exact moment they would drive by, and they don’t see it or know it’s coming until it’s too late. It slams into the driver side of their little car and Peter can feel the two of them crumpling like an accordion, and one of the last normal thoughts Peter has before slamming into the window is <em>why didn’t Friday know why didn’t Friday know were they not a threat until they surged forward was it an accident what the hell what the hell—</em></p>
<p>They flip and they flip and they flip until they hit a tree and slam back down to the ground. Peter feels like a paper doll, and he has glass in his face and the backpack is in his lap now and he can barely see and his head is just <em>buzz buzz buzz—</em></p>
<p>He glances at Tony, and sees that he’s bleeding from the head but alert, and looking at him wildly. The car is smashed around him, mostly in the backseat, but it’s bad enough that it seems to be pinning him in place. The steering wheel is pressed up against his chest and he’s wheezing, reaching over to grab at Peter.</p>
<p>“Go,” he says. “Get out, get out, go, they’re coming.”</p>
<p>“<em>No,</em>” Peter insists, trying to look out Tony’s window, but it’s totally shattered, just a mess of jagged lines. “No, I’m not leaving you.”</p>
<p>“I’m right behind, go—”</p>
<p>“Tony, I can’t—”</p>
<p>Tony grabs onto his shoulder, and Peter can tell he can barely move because of the goddamn car. </p>
<p>It would take too long to rip it apart to get him out.</p>
<p>
  <em>NO NO NO</em>
</p>
<p>It would take—</p>
<p>
  <em>no no please</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>what’s happening NO this can’t be happening no there has to be another way</em>
</p>
<p>“They’re enhanced,” Tony says. “They weren’t using stealth technology, they were using something else Friday can’t pick up as easily, but she sees them clear now that they made their move and uncloaked and they’re coming and you need to <em>go—</em>” He looks like he’s listening to something, maybe Friday in his ear, and Peter wonders if she alerted him of something just before they hit and that’s why he got the weird look on his face. </p>
<p>Peter can hear voices, can hear them approaching. Two people. One sounds familiar.</p>
<p>
  <em>shit shit</em>
</p>
<p>“I can fight them,” Peter whispers. “I can fight them, I can protect you.”</p>
<p>“I can’t risk you getting taken,” Tony says, and there are tears in his eyes. “We need to run, that’s it, no fighting, but this shit is too fucked up, kid, I can’t get out fast enough, even with you working at it, and even if you did get me out, I’m—I’d slow you down. I’ve failed you again and I’m sorry but you can’t stay here with me, you can’t—the coordinates to the next safe house are in your tracker, go, you can keep track of me with it if they take me—”</p>
<p>
  <em>NO NO NO</em>
</p>
<p>“No, I’m gonna fight them,” Peter says, as he hears them get closer, but his brain is scrambled eggs and he realizes he’s slurring and his legs and arms feel like jelly and there’s a piece of the car stabbed into his thigh and and and—</p>
<p>“Do not let them take you,” Tony says, gripping Peter’s shirt and twisting it in his hand. “You run and you keep running and you don’t stop—I know you can fight them, bud, I know you can because you’re the strongest person in the world, but they’re enhanced too and you’ve only got your webshooters and you’re fucked up from the wreck and they’ll use me against you and they’ve got—”</p>
<p>“Tony,” Peter says, and they’re getting closer, closer. “Please, I—”</p>
<p>“Go, or it’ll all be for nothing,” Tony says. “You gotta be safe, that’s it. They won’t kill me. They know it won’t play well, remember?”</p>
<p>Peter feels like he’s gonna throw up, and how can they know that how can they know Norman hasn’t changed his mind, and Peter can’t do this he can’t do this he can’t do this they’re so close they’re so close but Tony but <em>Tony—</em></p>
<p>Tony cups his cheek for a moment, and then he pushes his shoulder. “Go,” he says. “I’ll see you soon. I love you. Go, go, go Peter, <em>goddamnit—”</em></p>
<p>Peter sucks in a breath and looks at him, swallowing hard. “I love you,” he says. “I’m coming to get you. That’s it.”</p>
<p>“Pete, go, <em>go</em>, please—”</p>
<p>Tony nods at him even though he looks like he’s in pain, and he pushes at him again, with all of his might and desperation. Peter grabs the backpack and nearly tumbles out the door. He can hear them even more now that he’s out here, and he stays low and runs and limps and can barely focus with the way his head is pounding and the horror and sadness surrounding him over leaving Tony because <em>no no no you can’t leave him what are you doing what are you doing what are you DOING YOU COWARD YOU’RE A COWARD DON’T RUN AWAY—</em></p>
<p>
  <em>he wants you to he wants you to</em>
  <br/>
  <em>no it doesn’t matter that’s never mattered</em>
</p>
<p>Peter can barely fucking see—</p>
<p>
  <em>go BACK GO BACK GO BACK fight them fight them save Tony save TONY</em>
</p>
<p>He rushes until he drops, flattening himself out beside two fallen logs and underneath some leaves. He’s so far away that the car is almost a little speck now but he can still see he can still—</p>
<p>He sees them. Approaching the car.</p>
<p>
  <em>no NO no</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>coward coward coward you’re nothing you’re nothing you’re nothing</em>
</p>
<p>He’s so dizzy he’s so dizzy.</p>
<p>One man is big and in some kind of giant suit, a horn on his head, and the other is in some kind of shiny green costume and shit is that <em>Gargan? Is that Mac Gargan?</em></p>
<p>
  <em>get down there come on get down there don’t listen to Tony when do you listen to Tony don’t listen don’t don’t listen GO FIGHT THEM GO FIGHT THEM UNTIL YOU CAN’T FIGHT THEM ANYMORE—</em>
</p>
<p>They’re approaching the car they’re approaching Tony and Peter still has Tony’s fucking nano housing unit in his backpack, no, no, <em>asshole, his one line of defense—</em></p>
<p>So dizzy, so dizzy.</p>
<p>
  <em>no no no no no</em>
</p>
<p>He’s gotta go fight for him he’s got to <em>it’s Tony it’s Tony it’s Tony he’s got to he’s got to</em></p>
<p>He’s going. That’s it. Tony is gonna hate him but Peter has to because he never should have gotten out of the car, he should have stayed there and fought and that’s it and he’s going back. Peter feels the blood on his leg warm and sticky and there’s more tracking down his temple and No, Not Tony, Not Tony, he’s gotta fight that’s just it he’ll let them take him he’ll let them because <em>NOT TONY, NO MATTER WHAT HE SAYS OR WHAT HE WANTS AND</em></p>
<p>Peter makes one move to stand up, pressing his hands to crunching leaves and hard ground, and then the dizziness overcomes him, the darkness swallowing him up again as he slides away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. and the plan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Huge apologies for how long this took, I've been struggling a bit over here and this one kept going and going and going....but it's here! Rest assured I see all your comments and I'm trying to slowly chip away at them (I got so behind and now it's a big uphill battle to try and catch up :() but I will catch up once this is over! Thank you, I love you all, and enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The darkness surrounding Peter is too heavy. Everything is too heavy—the way he moves, or doesn’t move. The way the trees sway in the wind, like they’re stuck three gears too low. His eyes open slowly, his eyelids a million pounds, and when eight eons pass and he can see again he can only see half. The world, and nothing. There’s something—something over him, something—dark, covering him, and Peter tries to remember, tries to—wade through the slush and the cement and the <em>what’s happening what’s happening—</em></p><p>His arms don’t feel like they’re connected to his body and they don’t move when he wants them to move, pinpricks and static—</p><p>Car crash—</p><p>Gargan, car—</p><p>
  <em>Tony.</em>
</p><p>That.</p><p>
  <em>That THAT—</em>
</p><p>Peter groans and covers his eyes with his arm, and a bunch of leaves scatter with the movement. He slips down lower and that’s when he realizes he’s on an incline, and his arm scrapes across what feels like a tree trunk.</p><p>His head is throbbing and sticky with blood. </p><p>The darkness is because—because he’s halfway <em>under</em> one of the fallen trees, covered in leaves, the other trunk lined up alongside him and obscuring him from sight. </p><p>
  <em>Tony tony TONY</em>
</p><p>The backpack is crushed underneath Peter and cutting into his back at the same time, and he twists, trying to move, sliding even further underneath the log. </p><p>He’s still here. They didn’t see him. They didn’t find him. Are they still here? How long has it been?</p><p>
  <em>did they take Tony DID THEY TAKE</em>
</p><p>Peter tries to move his leg and he’s struck with instant pain, because some fucking thing is still sticking in him and he doesn’t know what the hell it is and maybe it’s part of the dashboard or the car door but whatever it is it’s sticking <em>in him</em> and he can’t tell how deep but it’s bloody all around it. It makes his leg feel half dead and he knows you’re not supposed to pull a sharp object out on your own once it’s been stabbed in, but he’s not gonna be seeing a doctor any time soon and he’s sure he has a long way to go to wherever’s next.</p><p>He breathes hard through his mouth and starts to panic as he becomes more aware, and he doesn’t know if it’s been minutes or hours or days and he doesn’t know if they’re still out there and Tony was hurt, he was hurt worse—</p><p>Peter sucks in a stilted breath and tries to move again, shifting even further under the log and into the enclave it’s covering. He feels like the crash knocked a few screws loose in his head and his vision is blurry, and he tries to focus. Tries to listen out, tries to sense what’s going on out there. He only hears the howl of the wind and a storm brewing, he doesn’t know where, but he doesn’t hear any heartbeats. No breathing but his own. He doesn’t know if that’s because he’s still off kilter, still messed up from everything else before and the crash own top of it, but he doesn’t have time to try and figure it out.</p><p>There are too many things to do, and a wave of dizziness hits him—</p><p>His shaking hands frame the debris in his fucking leg and he feels sick and he’s full of hate and fear and <em>think, Peter, think</em> because every moment he falters is wasted. And every moment he wastes is another moment away from Tony.</p><p>He swallows hard, sitting up straighter. He reaches around and rips the bottom of his shirt into three long strips, setting them aside. Then he sucks in a breath, trying to prepare himself, trying to tell himself he has to get this thing out in order to look for Tony. </p><p>He covers his hand with the frayed edge of his shirt, leans over and plucks it right out.</p><p>
  <em>the sharp striking pain—</em>
</p><p>It starts to bleed through his pants, and Peter quickly ties it off with the strips, wincing. He twists around and unzips the backpack, pulling out another shirt and pressing it on top of the wound. He ties it down too, trying to staunch the bleeding, and for a moment he just sits there, hands firm. </p><p>
  <em>gotta move gotta move gotta check if Tony is still there if Tony if Tony</em>
</p><p>He knows Tony’s not there. There’s zero percent chance of that. And Tony said they wouldn’t kill him and Norman said they wouldn’t kill him but Peter knows Gargan and Gargan is ruthless and Tony was already hurt—</p><p>Peter arches his neck back, trying to breathe, trying to think. </p><p>Everything got worse so goddamn fast. </p><p>He fucking aches but he knows he has to get up, he has to check, he has to let the horror shoot through him so he can get past it and start looking already.</p><p>
  <em>Tony, Tony, God, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.</em>
</p><p>Peter takes a couple more minutes and then he groans to his feet, instantly hit with how horrible it is to stand again. He limps and tries to stay low, and still he doesn’t hear anything, he doesn’t sense any danger. Only a deep sense of loss and failure that hangs over him like a storm cloud, and it only gets bigger and thicker when he sees the smashed-up car there with no one inside it. </p><p>Tears prick in his eyes and he gets closer, even though there’s nothing to see. The driver’s side is ripped apart like they destroyed it to get Tony out, and Peter could have <em>done that he could have done that he should have he could have saved him. </em>He stands next to the car where he left it God knows how long ago, and anger boils inside him. Before he knows it he’s grabbing the passenger door and ripping it off its hinges. He tosses it off to the side and it hits a tree, falling back down to the ground with a loud thud.</p><p>He gets dizzy with the exertion and he stumbles back, and he has to be safe, he has to get out of here, they obviously found out where they were, some fucking how, so they could be keeping an eye on the area. He doesn’t know how the hell they didn’t find him, how he managed to pass out in the perfect spot, and it doesn’t matter because it’s over and they have him, they’ve got Tony.</p><p>And Peter has to change that.</p><p>He starts stomping off in the direction he came without looking back at the car, and his leg is like a dead weight and he’s out in the open now and he’s in fucking danger.</p><p>Then he remembers the tracker.</p><p>His heart dips with fear that it broke in the crash, or when he fell into the log ditch, and he quickly kneels next to a tree and fishes it out of his jacket pocket. He clicks the button on the side and the screen comes up, like a smaller version of the phone he hasn’t seen since before the trial. </p><p>The tracker isn’t broken.</p><p>And it looks like it’s more than a tracker. It looks like there are phone numbers in here, and access to the Stark servers, and the ability to use a hologram to see everything bigger. Peter clicks through—the safe houses are all laid out on a map, and the closest one is over an hour away, north of here. There’s a route laid out for him, but he doesn’t know if it’s the safest way or if this thing has Friday installed and she’s keeping track of the dangers between here and there.</p><p>She wasn’t able to detect Gargan and the other guy, in their truck. For some reason. Peter still doesn’t know why, doesn’t know if she did know and it was too late, or—</p><p>He doesn’t have time to sit here and go over it. He doesn’t have time.</p><p>And yet he still sits here.</p><p>He doesn’t know what to do. </p><p>He shifts a little bit, the pressure on his leg mounting, his head pounding and pounding into the stratosphere. </p><p>Tracker, tracker, it’s a tracker—</p><p>Tony tracked—he tracked himself, he tracked himself, that’s in here. It’s in here.</p><p>Peter opens up that list and at first he can’t tell what the hell is what, because they’re not labeled. But then he focuses, really focuses, because his brain is almost outright refusing to put two and two together, and then he can see.</p><p>Steve and Nat, they’re—they’re on top of Beck. They’re there, they’re there with him.</p><p>They’re there with him, they made it.</p><p>Peter stares and feels like his vision is going in and out and what if they’re dead? What if they’re dead, what if he got the upper hand on them?</p><p>He swipes around a bit in his fear and he sees heartbeats. Three heartbeats. All three of them are still alive.</p><p>“Okay,” Peter breathes. “Okay, okay.” If they’ve got Beck, they’re—he doesn’t remember the exact location Beck was at originally, and he stares at the map where they are. The wind sweeps all around him and he hears a strange bird call, and Peter looks up and around and for a moment, he feels like he’s in a horror movie. Tony was taking the back roads and there’s nothing around but their car, smashed up and pulled apart, and it’s too quiet. Like the inside of his head when he was in the Raft, in his cell, and he feels closer to that for the first time since Tony got him out.</p><p>
  <em>Tony.</em>
</p><p>Peter swipes down and finds the others being tracked. He thinks one is William, from the last time Tony was figuring out his new location, but he can’t be sure. </p><p>But the other.</p><p>There are <em>two</em>, together, both alive, both beating hearts and vitals, and Peter stares and stares and realizes yes, it’s the same place. It’s the same place Norman was in before, when they were listening. In Hell’s Kitchen.</p><p>That must be Tony. Him and Tony. One of the dots keeps flickering and Peter figures it’s because Friday has a hard time locking on, like Tony said.</p><p>But both heartbeats are strong. Both of them are alive.</p><p>Tony’s alive. He’s alive. Peter nearly topples over in relief, but then the rest of it washes over him.</p><p>He’s alive, but Norman has him. </p><p>Peter swallows hard, and stares at all the tracking. </p><p>Tony is so far away. There’s no fucking way Peter can get to him, no way, not fast enough, it’d take days and days and more than that. Fucking more than that.</p><p>Everything Tony did for him, all of it, and Peter can’t—he can’t—</p><p>
  <em>you have to you HAVE TO—</em>
</p><p>Peter sucks in a breath and he’s trembling, holding the tracker against the core of his chest. Tears gather in his eyes and he doesn’t know what the hell to do. He hears the birds call again and it sounds sad and forgotten, and then an owl adds to the chorus.</p><p>Peter’s alone. He’s alone again. </p><p>And Tony’s in danger.</p><p>Peter feels sick, worse with every passing second, and he knows he’s lost too much blood. </p><p>He grips the tracker and quickly puts it away, back where it was pressing against his ribs. His fingers tremble, bloody when he tries to zip the zipper back up, and he hauls his backpack around again, rummaging through it. Clothes, Tony’s keys, webshooters—</p><p>The nano housing unit.</p><p>Peter’s heart surges enough to make his chest go tight, and the world shifts and goes dark in patches. <em>Yes, yes</em>, he can put it on, he can fly to the safe house, clean up take some medicine help himself out, and then he can fly to Hell’s Kitchen and get Tony. <em>Yes</em> perfect, perfect.</p><p>He finds it in the bag, grabs it, brings it out into the open—</p><p>But—</p><p>But then—</p><p>A huge crack, right down the middle.</p><p>“No,” Peter whispers, dizzy and dizzy and dizzier still, and he slaps the thing onto his chest anyway. Instead of latching it falls off immediately, and Peter shakes his head, only making what feels like his imminent collapse come on faster. “No, no, not allowed,” Peter mutters, holding it there with one hand and tapping it twice like Tony always does. “No, Tony wouldn’t let something like this break this easily. No way. No way.”</p><p>He taps it and taps it but when he lets go it slides back into his lap again.</p><p>“No, <em>no</em>,” Peter asserts, grabbing onto it and staring at it and he can feel it buzzing with life, the nanos eager to escape and form the suit like they’re meant to. He’s smart, he’s—he’s supposed to be smart, he’s supposed to be, and he should be able to fix this. He should be able to put it back together or make it work around the crack because Tony’s inventions are stronger than this, there’s gotta be a way there’s gotta be—</p><p>“C’mon,” Peter says, pressing it against his chest. “Tony would want you to work for me. He would. So I can—go get him. Please. Please.”</p><p>Nothing. Nothing. And he’s got no fucking lab to fix it in and no suit of his own and he keeps feeling like he’s gonna pass out and he’s bleeding and he’s sitting in the middle of nowhere miles and miles away from anyone or anything that can help him.</p><p>He breathes hard, enough to make his whole body shake and his fear is heavy in his head, drumming with the beating of his blood.</p><p>
  <em>Alone alone alone alone again and they’re gonna get me and they’re gonna fucking find me they found us once when I was with Tony and now they’re gonna find me again because I’m alone</em>
</p><p>Peter shoves the housing unit back in his bag and sits there, breathing hard. </p><p>He needs a suit to go and get Tony. Or at least a ride. Someone to help patch him up. People in his corner, people that love him—but his brain malfunctions at that. He doesn’t want anyone in danger. No one he loves, no one. </p><p>But he knows they’ll—he knows—</p><p>He swallows hard and grabs the tracker back out of his jacket pocket. He clicks the button and stares at it as the screen lights up again. “Friday, are you in there?” Peter asks.</p><p>The screen clears and a message scrolls across.</p><p>
  <em>USER PETER PARKER - APPROVED - YES, GO AHEAD, PETER</em>
</p><p>Peter cracks his jaw. His whole face hurts and he’s having trouble breathing. “Where’s, uh—where’s the nearest abandoned building? Like a warehouse or something?”</p><p>He watches the screen as a map opens up, and moves down and down and down the road they were driving on until it stops on a big building on the other side from where he is. Fifteen minutes away.</p><p>“Uh, track that for me,” Peter says, wetting his lips. “Please.”</p><p>A plan is stitching itself together in his addled mind, and he tries to grab at the threads, tries to follow where they’re going, because it must be a more logical version of himself putting it together, the Him from before all this, before the donut ship arrived in the sky. That Him, then, he’s part of This Peter still, right? He’s working, he’s helping—</p><p>There are a lot of things Peter doesn’t want. But to make a foolproof plan to get Tony back, he’ll have to—do some things he doesn’t want. He’ll have to allow some things to happen that—he’d rather avoid. This whole situation is a tightrope, held high over a bed of snakes. </p><p>He’s close to falling. </p><p>He has to make it across. </p><p>And he knows there’s no foolproof plan as long as he’s involved, because he’s the biggest fool there is. That’s why he’s in this situation to begin with.</p><p>The plan is a patchwork quilt but he can see it now, and he knows what he has to do. He swallows hard and shifts a little, taking out a hat and stuffing it on his head.</p><p>He sits there for a long minute and stares off at the swaying trees and stale landscape, and he knows things are about to change. Well, they’ve already changed.</p><p>
  <em>Alone alone alone</em>
</p><p>
  <em>gotta get Tony gotta go GET</em>
</p><p>“Please please,” he whispers, willing something in the universe to shift. To shift in his favor. “Please.”</p><p>Peter holds tight to the tracker, wincing when he moves the wrong way. He opens the list of numbers and sees that they’re all private, either burner phones or separate servers, and he finds one attributed to Rhodey.</p><p>He hopes to God he’s making the right decision, and he dials the number.</p><p>It rings and it rings and it rings, a small hologram projecting into the air of Rhodey’s location on the map, in a Stark facility in DC. Why is he there? What is he doing? He’s closer to everything else, that’s for sure. Peter thinks about just telling him to go get Tony, but he can imagine Norman keeping Tony alive and killing Rhodey and anyone else who came to get him. Pretending like he never had Tony at all, using him as bait to get Peter back—</p><p>—and isn’t that exactly what’s happening here? Isn’t Peter running in, head first? </p><p>It doesn’t matter, it’s Tony—</p><p>Peter can’t put anyone else in danger, he can’t, not unless he’s there to protect them, or at least back them up—</p><p>There’s no doing this right, not a single way that’s correct, and is he being selfish? Is he? Is he putting Tony in more danger? Tony would hate him if Rhodey was drawn into this but Peter’s plan is to keep him from being all the way drawn in but Tony just needs to be rescued, that’s that, that’s—</p><p>“Hello?” Rhodey’s voice says, and he sounds like he’s anticipating something.</p><p>Peter stares at the hologram, Rhodey’s dot moving back and forth.</p><p>“It’s me,” Peter says.</p><p>“Uh—uh, Christ, alright. Alright.”</p><p>Peter looks at the tracking at the top of the screen, where the warehouse is down the road. He doesn’t know if he’s doing the right thing but he feels like he’s inches from bailing out, and he needs help he doesn’t want it he <em>needs it</em> and he’s gotta get Tony. He’s gotta get Tony without implicating anyone else.</p><p>Right?</p><p>“I need you to come pick me up,” Peter says, voice wavering with how unsure he is. “It’s, uh—just you, okay? But I need you to come—take me in. Keep it quiet, it has—to be done—a certain way. For all of it to work.” God he’s dizzy.</p><p>“Okay,” Rhodey says, but there’s a lot behind it. “Where are you?”</p><p>~</p><p>Peter leaves tracks of blood in the grass and the dirt as he makes his way to the warehouse, and he has to duck off the road two times when cars go by. Every step is like agony and he feels like he has a couple broken ribs that are healing wrong and his leg is like a dead carcass he’s dragging around for shits and giggles. </p><p>Every time he thinks about Tony it gets harder to breathe. </p><p>He didn’t give Rhodey much information, because he wants to tell him everything face to face, and he knows he’s gonna give him a hard time he <em>knows</em> he is, and when Peter gets into the warehouse he feels like there’s a ton of hot air inside of him, and he’s close to bursting.</p><p>He makes sure it’s empty. He makes sure it’s completely empty.</p><p>The place is big and cavernous, looks like it might have been some sort of slaughterhouse back when it was running. There are rats in the rafters and the ceiling is caving in, and it smells like something died here.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for Peter to start tearing it apart. </p><p>He rests his hand on one dilapidated table before he’s overturning it, before he’s ripping it in half, before he’s cutting his palm on old rusty machinery as he hurls it across the warehouse. He breaks up walls and kicks down doors and lays the place to waste, only seeing his own anger, his own desperation, only hearing Tony say <em>I’ll see you soon. I love you. Go, go, go, Peter, goddamnit—</em></p><p>Everything crashes and the walls crack and he tosses and throws and breaks apart and none of it means anything none of it means anything his life doesn’t mean anything—</p><p>He trips over the remains of a cabinet or something, all the metal and garbage that was inside it, and he falls to the ground in a defeated heap, up to his knees in everything he’s destroyed and everything that’s been left here since this place went out of use, dust and spider webs and dead things.</p><p>He’s a dead thing. He might as well be a dead thing. May’s warm embrace is a lifetime away, MJ’s hands and Ned’s smile and Tony’s voice.</p><p>
  <em>Rhodey’s coming, this’ll work</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The plan will work, it’ll work</em>
</p><p>
  <em>—there’s no fucking time for the plan to work and you’re being selfish—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>—no, I’m protecting them, he’d want me to protect them—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’re not protecting him. He doesn’t have time.</em>
</p><p>He’s fucking arguing with himself now. He sits on the ground, his hat lost after his tantrum, God knows where—his leg is straining worse than it was and his hand is bleeding from whatever he cut it on and from the state this place is in the wound is probably infected and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe—</p><p>He doesn’t know how long he sits there, hyperventilating. He doesn’t know how long before he scurries off into the corner like a rat himself, drawing his knees up to his chest.</p><p>Forever and forever and forever until—</p><p>“Peter?”</p><p>Rhodey. Coming in the main door. Alone. </p><p>Peter doesn’t not trust him but he doesn’t completely trust him, either, and that’s not because he doesn’t trust him but more because anything can happen nowadays, anything, and Peter doesn’t know what to do or what the hell to believe anymore.</p><p>But it’s Rhodey. <em>Rhodey</em>. Tony’s best friend and Peter’s friend and he has to trust him. Has to trust this.</p><p>Plus, Rhodey sees him before he can move. He winces like he can feel everything Peter’s feeling, and he approaches him like he’s a horse he’s afraid to spook.</p><p>“I’m alone,” Rhodey says. “Only Pepper knows I left and she’s covering. Where’s Tony? Kid, Jesus, your hair, I wasn’t expecting—wait, are you—”</p><p>“We gotta go,” Peter says, struggling to his feet, and he takes a couple sideways steps, nearly falls over before Rhodey reaches out and steadies him. “You gotta take me in because—”</p><p>“Because you’re fucked up,” Rhodey says, bending a bit to look him in the eye. “And Tony is—”</p><p>“I’ll tell you on the jet or whatever,” Peter says, feeling really lightheaded now that he’s up, now that he’s got some sort of clarity because there’s another person from the outside world here, and not his weird separate black and white world, and the plan the plan—</p><p>
  <em>SELFISH</em>
</p><p>no, no—</p><p>
  <em>JUST SAVE HIM JUST SAVE HIM HOWEVER WHOEVER NOW NOW</em>
</p><p>no more in danger nobody else in danger</p><p>
  <em>JUST KNOWING YOU PUTS THEM IN DANGER</em>
</p><p>“Peter, focus,” Rhodey says, and he holds him closer, taking his chin in his hand gently. “You’re hurt, what happened—”</p><p>The plan is tendrils. The plan is car crash. The plan is <em>I love you. Go, go, go, goddamnit. </em>The plan is <em>selfish</em>. The plan is danger and danger and every bit danger, and why is he broken in every way that matters? </p><p>Tony should have left him in the Raft. He should have suffered through Norman’s experiments. That’s all he’s good for.</p><p>
  <em>no, they love you, remember?</em>
</p><p>The voice in his head is small. His own, but younger. His own, but before all this. He wills it to be true. He hopes and he hopes and he hopes and—</p><p>“You gotta arrest me,” Peter says, his vision already going blotchy. Maybe he’s hallucinating all this. Maybe it’s not even happening. He grips Rhodey’s arm to convince himself, but he gets blood on him. <em>No, no.</em> He shakes his head. “Just—pretend to arrest me, so I can—suit, need to—get a suit, so I can—”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, no. Oh, great.</em>
</p><p>“Rhodey,” Peter says, trying to hold on, because why now, why <em>now? Why not all the time before this? </em></p><p>
  <em>Because you were alone. Because no one would have found you. Because you would have died.</em>
</p><p>Rhodey says <em>whoa whoa whoa</em> but Peter passes out before he knows whether he catches him or not.</p><p>~</p><p>“You better wake up,” Rhodey’s voice says, muffled, like Peter is under water. “We’re alone now, kid, but we’re thirty minutes out and I was just informed that people are questioning my absence.”</p><p>Peter groans, turning his head to the side.</p><p>Rhodey. </p><p>Why is Rhodey here?</p><p>Where’s Tony, what’s, what’s <em>happening—</em></p><p>Car crash, Gargan, big guy, Tony bleeding, gone, <em>gone—</em></p><p>The warehouse, his decision, his very <em>questionable</em> plan—</p><p>Can it even be called a plan—</p><p>The plan forms again, like it had taken itself apart when he was out, like it wasn’t sure it was needed anymore. But it comes back together in foul strokes, unsure of itself and unsure of him but forming all the same. </p><p>He opens his eyes. Rhodey is hovering over him, and they look like they’re on a small quinjet that seems to be flying itself. Peter winces and reaches up—there’s a bandage on his head, one around his hand, and when he looks down he sees that he’s wearing a pair of soft shorts now, with gauze around the wound on his leg. </p><p>“Don’t be spending time thinking about your modesty,” Rhodey says. “I had to take care of that, you were nearly bleeding to death. Now tell me what the hell is going on.”</p><p>Peter knows this is gonna be a hard conversation and he feels his throat nearly close up with panic. “I need you to pretend you’re arresting me,” he says, fast, bracing his hand on his forehead. “Just. Take jurisdiction or whatever, military arrest, I don’t know, say that you don’t trust them to hold me after what happened last time. But I need you to—bring me in, under these pretenses, so you stay in the clear, so it doesn’t look like you’re working with me and trying to hide me. I’m gonna grab some weapons and a suit, and escape in like, a quinjet, maybe this one, and then I’m gonna go rescue Tony because Norman Osborn’s goons kidnapped him.”</p><p>Rhodey’s face changes, and he almost looks resigned, like this is exactly what he was expecting to hear.</p><p>“And you guys can follow me, to look like you’re chasing me, but only as backup, Rhodey, the whole point of this is for no one else to get hurt, I already got Tony in trouble and I’m not—I’m not gonna let Norman hurt anyone else, that’s it. He’s a freak, he’s a crazy person, we just—everybody needs to stay away from him. So I’m gonna get Tony, I’m gonna do it, and then we’re gonna show everyone what we’ve got. He won’t be able to hide anymore.” </p><p>Peter feels like he sounds really stupid and Rhodey is just staring at him. Is he dreaming this? Is this really happening?</p><p>Peter clears his throat. Rhodey is still looking at him like he’s working his way into his brain and Peter clears his throat <em>again</em>. “Have you—Tony said he was transmitting all the information—”</p><p>“I have everything,” Rhodey says. “It’s enough, once we’ve got Beck. It kills their entire case. Shows what they did to you. Him being alive would just—tear it all down. Reveal the lie.”</p><p>Peter nods, and even that makes him feel dizzy. “And they’re on their way with him. You heard the whole thing with Norman—”</p><p>“I heard it,” Rhodey says, and he glances away, his eyes narrowed now. “Heard all that shit, saw that he was blaming the murder he committed on you, and now he’s got Tony. Now you’re saying he’s got Tony.”</p><p>“He’s got other enhanced people working for him,” Peter says. “I was gonna just...use Tony’s nano suit and go on my own but it—the housing unit got damaged when they attacked us and I’m—a little messed up, but that—I’m better now, that you helped me out.”</p><p>Rhodey looks at him again and frowns.</p><p>Peter sits up and tries not to look as messed up as he feels. “Just. Just take me in like you’re taking me in, make a whole big deal so whoever’s watching sees, and put me—in one of the holding cells where I can get to storage and I’ll grab one of my suits and go and get him and you guys—you and whoever—follow from a distance and pull in if you see me, like. Start to have a hard time or something. And nobody will think you helped me, there’d be nothing to prove it except our relationship, and we’d out Norman with the fact that he kidnapped Tony, and Steve and Natasha will come back with Beck and we can reveal all our information. And I’ll have Tony back. I’ll get him.” His heart aches.</p><p>Rhodey lets out a really big sigh, and he runs his hand over his face. Peter doesn’t know his expressions as well as he knows Tony’s and it’s hard to read him, to tell what he’s thinking.</p><p>“Okay?” Peter pleads, dizzy dizzy dizzy. “Just—help me out here, just—make it look good so they’ll hold off when they see I’m here, hiding it would be worse and just implicate more people, just—please, it’s almost over.” He’s repeating himself, over and over. For himself or for Rhodey? To prove that it’s possible? That it’ll work?</p><p>Rhodey looks at him a minute or so longer and then he gets up, palming the back of his neck. He walks away from Peter, over towards the control panel.</p><p>“You’ve taken people into custody before, right?” Peter asks, leaning on his elbows. “As a—Colonel or whatever? Especially, uh—enhanced...individuals?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Rhodey says.</p><p>Peter stares at his back. Feels like he’s on the edge of the earth and he might as well just leap off. </p><p>
  <em>not before you get Tony.</em>
</p><p>“We’ll be there soon,” Rhodey says, with a sigh. “I’ve got cuffs, they’re not vibranium but no one can tell the damn difference unless they’re wearing them, so they’ll do the job for whoever’s watching.”</p><p>Peter’s heart dips at the mention of handcuffs but they’re not vibranium, they’re not, he’ll be able to get out of them if he needs to. He’ll be able to get out. He’s not in the Raft, he’s not going back there. This is his plan this is his ruse this is <em>his</em> and he’s fine and he’s fine, he’s fine.</p><p>“So you’ll just take me in and—give me some medicine or something and then—put me somewhere where I can escape and get to the storage where the suits are and I can leave from there,” Peter says, swallowing hard, his heart fluttering in his chest. “You can even put me in a room with a security camera and I’ll make the escape all dramatic and shit, so they’ll see you didn’t help me. They don’t have to know you left the codes off on the door. Or whatever.”</p><p>Rhodey still doesn’t turn around and look at him. It’s a little unnerving. </p><p>“Maybe you should punch me a couple times,” Peter says. “To make it like you—took me down in a fight.”</p><p>Then Rhodey does turn around, his eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he says, firmly. “I know you haven’t seen yourself, but you look bad enough.”</p><p>Peter scoffs. He feels plenty bad, that’s for sure. And his head is raging with all the decisions he’s made and everything falling into place even though he’s not sure still if the places where they’re falling are the correct places, or if he can even pull this off and—</p><p>
  <em>SELFISH SELFISH SELFISH IT DOESN’T NEED TO BE YOU HE JUST NEEDS TO BE SAVED RISK IT RISK SOMEONE ELSE IT DOESN’T MATTER</em>
</p><p>
  <em>no it matters it matters everyone matters nobody hurt no one else hurt they won’t kill him they won’t kill him</em>
</p><p>
  <em>BUT THEY’LL TORTURE HIM AND THAT’S ON YOU FOR DRAWING THIS OUT</em>
</p><p>Peter covers his face with his hands, and leans back again.</p><p>~</p><p>They wind up in the same facility where Tony was laid up in his coma, and Peter stands over by the door when they land. He takes one more look at the tracking before they get off the jet—Natasha and Steve are about an hour out with Beck, William is still in the same place, and so is Tony. So is Norman. Peter watches Tony’s heartbeat, and doesn’t see it rising rapidly like he’s being hurt or anything, which is one small mercy. </p><p>He doesn’t tell Rhodey where Tony is. So he won’t know, so they won’t see what the plan is, that he knew what the plan is.</p><p>
  <em>SO HE WON’T GO WITHOUT YOU, YOU’RE LETTING TONY ROT BECAUSE YOU WANT IT TO BE YOU</em>
</p><p>His own voice screams at him. It’s soaked in vitriol and he doesn’t remember ever feeling like that, ever sounding like that out there in the real world. Only in his head. </p><p>Peter slips the tracker into his jacket pocket so Rhodey doesn’t see.</p><p>Rhodey seems very put-upon by all this, and he’s avoiding Peter’s eyes. No wonder, his best friend is in danger. Peter is essentially using him. Peter feels like shit when that thought hits, and Rhodey walks back over from the control panel, his shoulders full of tension, his silence way too loud. He turns Peter around and pulls his hands behind his back. Peter holds his breath when the cuffs snap around his wrists, and he flashes back in lightning strikes. </p><p>
  <em>At least his hands weren’t behind his back there. He wouldn’t have been able to defend himself at all.</em>
</p><p>He’s gotta remind himself that these are not vibranium. He can break these off whenever he wants to. He can. He can and he will. When he goes to get Tony.</p><p>“Not too tight, right?” Rhodey asks, a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“No,” Peter says, trying not to spiral. </p><p>“Just like you said. I’m gonna bring you in and down to a holding cell in the sub-basement. It has security cameras but the audio is out. So we can talk about what we need to talk about there and it’ll just look like I’m interrogating you.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, swallowing hard.</p><p>“But before we go there, we’ll go to the med bay, where I’ll be looping the security cameras for the first couple minutes of your visit,” Rhodey says. He walks around in front of him now, and is looking him dead on. “May and your friends are here. I’ll let them see you for a couple minutes after I get the loop.”</p><p>Peter’s heart leaps, and he morphs into something else. He’s been panicking and feeling ill but <em>MAY, MAY AND MJ AND NED!</em> The best goddamn scenario in the middle of the worst goddamn scenario, and he has to catch his breath, tears gathering in his eyes.</p><p>“Just so you can see them,” Rhodey says. “And then I’ll bring you to the cell, do a little bit more of your goddamn theatrics in the public spaces, and then I’ll leave.” He looks away then, walking over and grabbing Peter’s backpack. “I’ll recalibrate the nano unit. This shit happens sometimes when it takes damage, it just needs a bit.”</p><p>“And then once you leave I’ll have my window?” Peter asks, flexing his wrists, trying to breathe. He can already feel the metal straining when he pushes against it, and that’s good. That’s good, he can—he can get out. </p><p>He’s gonna see May and MJ and Ned. He’s gonna see them. He’s gonna see them and then he’s gonna go get Tony.</p><p>“Window, yeah,” Rhodey says. He clears his throat. “I already logged an arrest under my name but I didn’t say it was you. Just covering my ass. Wanna draw attention without drawing attention, you know? I guess there’s...a particular way of doing this.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, even though he barely knows anything anymore. His head is clouded with everything that’s going on and the crash and the flipping over and over and Tony being gone and all this and the handcuffs and May and MJ and Ned. </p><p>He needs to get into gear. It’s all happening now. It’s all happening.</p><p>Rhodey moves closer to the exit. He looks at Peter, and there’s something in his eyes and it’s been there this whole time. Peter knows he can trust him he knows he can but he’s nervous all the same. He knows Rhodey would never do anything to hurt him. </p><p>“You ready?”</p><p>Peter nods, and a time clock starts ticking inside his head. Like the grandfather clock in the last safehouse, like the lack of time in the Raft.</p><p>He wants to have time. He doesn’t want time to rule him.</p><p>He just has to get through this. </p><p>“You sure?” Rhodey asks, and Peter figures there must be a look on his face.</p><p>He flexes his wrists again.</p><p>
  <em>this is rhodey you can get out you can get out you can you can</em>
</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Rhodey nods, and then the ramp goes down. They walk out once it’s set, and for a moment Peter worries that there’s gonna be hordes of press and flashing cameras up and waiting for him on the roof. He had to deal with a lot of that during the trial, and it looms in his head like a ghost, but there isn’t anyone there, thankfully. He knows Rhodey isn’t exactly advertising his arrival—they’re just trying to play it safe, play it normal, not <em>overplay</em> it.</p><p>Peter draws in a breath as Rhodey leads him out, and his heart is beating so fast and loud that he’s sure the whole world can hear it. There are two men standing at the door, and Rhodey doesn’t say anything to them—he just scans in, and ushers Peter forward with a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>There’s no one in the hallway and Peter keeps panicking, sure he’s gonna be bombarded any second. Rhodey’s energy is different and he’s a much better actor than Peter is. But Peter doesn’t exactly need to act, because his head can’t let him feel safe, not when Tony isn’t, not when he’s handcuffed, even though he can get out of them. But if he panics and gets out of them now, that blows Rhodey’s cover, and destroys the plan.</p><p>The plan. The patchwork plan. The plan that Peter doubts and doubts and doubts until it starts crumbling in his head.</p><p>Their shoes click against the tile, and Rhodey scans them into the elevator, leading him inside and pressing the button for the med bay.</p><p>The doors close.</p><p>“Breathe,” Rhodey says, and he squeezes Peter’s shoulder gently. “It’s okay.”</p><p>Peter swallows hard and breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. He knows there are cameras in the elevators, but he doesn’t try to look.</p><p>He’s suddenly aware of how much he hates this. Not that he wasn’t aware before, but it comes into clear realization as he’s being led around in handcuffs in a Stark facility by someone he considers a friend. He’s a criminal, everyone knows his face and his name and he’s a <em>criminal</em>, and he wants to get past this but most of all he wants to go back before it ever happened. Where he could be in public and nobody knew who he was. There were times, brief moments where he was interested in people knowing who Spider-Man was, but he always pushed that back, because he didn’t do it for people to know it was him. He did it because it was right. </p><p>But none of that matters, now. They’ve all forgotten what he did before. They only remember what they think he did, what they were convinced of, like nothing else ever happened. </p><p>He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be mentally square with all this. Even if they do clear his name, he doesn’t know if he can get straight with what people thought, so easily. What they thought him capable of. </p><p>What did he do to make them think that?</p><p>The elevator stops and opens, and thankfully the new hallway isn’t filled like Peter keeps worrying it will be. There are a few people and they gape at him, and Peter wonders if it’s because it’s <em>him</em> or because he’s <em>here</em> or because he’s all busted up. Or maybe a combo of all three. </p><p>Passing out made him feel a little less dizzy, kinda like when you throw up and you feel better afterwards, but his nerves are bringing him right back to the state he was in beforehand. Rhodey continues to lead him around a corner, where there are a few people going in and out of rooms on either side of the hall. One of the men gasps when he sees them, but Rhodey just ushers him right through.</p><p>“Let’s go,” Rhodey says, loud, and he pushes on Peter’s shoulder a bit, grabbing onto him again when he almost trips.</p><p>They turn again and Peter sees the doors to the med bay, and Rhodey steps ahead of him and holds the door open once he scans in. Peter walks inside.</p><p>Only Helen is there, and she gives them a particular look, almost like she was expecting this. She gets up from her spot at a computer, and none of them speak before Rhodey is leading Peter into the back of the med bay to some of the beds that are behind partitions. Peter knows where the cameras are because he helped Happy with the updates a month before all hell broke loose, but he doesn’t look, he still doesn’t look.</p><p>Rhodey leads him over to the second one from the wall, and he hears him rustling around for something. Then he grabs onto the handcuffs, and uncuffs one of Peter’s wrists.</p><p>“Lay down here,” Rhodey says. “Helen’s gonna fix you up a little bit better than I did and then we’re going downstairs, where you’re gonna stay.”</p><p>Peter swallows hard, his heart in his throat again, and he climbs up onto the bed, wincing a bit. His leg still hurts and the dizziness is getting worse again, and when he’s laying down Rhodey cuffs him to the bar on the side of the bed, leaving his wounded hand free. He’s still avoiding his eyes and it looks like doing all this is causing him actual, physical pain that pulls around his eyes, and Peter feels like shit again. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Helen asks. But the question turns up in a particular way at the end of the sentence, and Peter thinks that she’s been alerted, somehow. She always liked him, she always got annoyed at him for running around and hurting himself, and he knows she doesn’t believe what they said he did. He knows she doesn’t believe he should be in the Raft.</p><p>She said as much, before they took him away.</p><p>“Finally tracked him down,” Rhodey says, putting Peter’s backpack down on the counter. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks into the main part of the med bay. “Gonna keep him here while we figure out what to do with him. The Raft clearly can’t hold him, so—something’s gonna have to give. The escape is probably gonna fuck up the appeals but they can claim he didn’t go along with it. Or something. Either way, he’s in my custody now.”</p><p>Peter can see him toeing the line. He was a vocal supporter of Peter all throughout the trial, but he’s been convicted, and Rhodey has to play like he wants to uphold the law. Even though he’s—not, currently. But nobody knows that. Well, Helen might. </p><p>It’s all so fucking complicated and stupid and Peter’s head hurts, and he leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>He has to get Tony he has to get Tony Tony Tony Tony—</em>
</p><p>He hears Rhodey whisper. “Give me a good ten minutes, then I’ll buzz you. Then we’ll do it, alright?”</p><p>“Fine,” Helen says, fast. </p><p>Peter opens his eyes and catches the tail end of Rhodey staring at him, not saying anything else before he walks out of the room. </p><p>Peter adjusts a little bit, the handcuff scraping up and down the bar, and Helen pulls a medical tray over next to his bed. </p><p>“What happened?” she asks, gently, glancing at him. </p><p>“Car accident,” Peter says, stupidly. “Uh. We got hit and flipped a bunch of times and part of the car cut into my leg. And something hit me in the head. And then I hurt my hand.” Tearing up a warehouse, but he’s not gonna mention that.</p><p>
  <em>And Tony got hurt too and he’s not here and he’s in danger and this plan and this plan and this plan—</em>
</p><p>Helen hovers over him and peels back the bandage Rhodey put on his forehead. “It’s already starting to heal,” she says. “But I wanna do a couple stitches just in case. I’ve seen this kind of wound on you and it’s better that way.” She looks at his leg next, and clicks her tongue. “Same here,” she says. Then she looks at his hand and clicks her tongue, and he wishes for the times when he’d come back to her after really messing up on patrol. She was one of the only people he trusted, and she knew who he was. She looks up at him again and stands there for a second. “I have some of the medicine that works on you.”</p><p>Peter’s heart sinks, just like it did when Tony mentioned drugs when he first got him out. </p><p>That feels like forever ago. But it hasn’t been that long. Time isn’t fucking real and nothing makes sense, and he feels like he drifts in a mini-panic for a couple seconds. Unsure, sick, stuck in a cycle he won’t be able to get back from. Will this fail? Will they put him back into the Raft? Will they hurt him again before Norman gets to carry out his plans? To soften him up, so he’ll take it? More drugs, more shocks from that vest? He pulls his shirt up almost unconsciously, and really looks at the burns again. They’re healing well, but still very much there, and Helen’s brows furrow.</p><p>Peter quickly pushes his shirt back down again and refocuses. He doesn’t know why he did that, and he’s embarrassed and sad and fucking scared and he has to get back to Tony and that’s it. That’s it.</p><p>Helen’s jaw works back and forth and Peter remembers her question. He doesn’t want drugs but he needs to be in tip top shape when he gets out of here.</p><p>“Not the ones that are strong enough to get me loopy,” Peter says, his mouth dry.</p><p>She nods. “Do the burns hurt?” she asks, gently.</p><p>He shakes his head. “Not really,” he says. “Not anymore.”</p><p>She nods again and stands there a second more, before resting her hand on his arm. “Despite the circumstances,” she says. “I’m glad to see you.”</p><p>His chest goes a little tight and tears sting in his eyes. “I’m glad to see you too.”</p><p>She stitches him up after that, more of an expert-hand than Happy but with the same amount of concern. He can tell that there are a lot of questions boiling below the surface, but she doesn’t talk and gets her work done. Then she gives him a couple pills, and sets a glass of water on the tray.</p><p>“Just lay there for a couple minutes,” she says, looking at him intently. “Sip the water slowly. Don’t finish it. And don’t move too much.”</p><p>Peter gets it. It’s time for Rhodey to make the loop.</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, his heart picking up the pace again. He watches as Helen walks over to the computer and sits down, and then Peter is afraid to even move. He takes small sips of his water, trying to make his movements little and quick, and he doesn’t exactly know how Rhodey is doing this. Peter doesn’t know if anyone else is aware May, MJ and Ned are here, and even if they are aware, it would definitely look a certain way if anyone saw them coming to see him. Peter figures Rhodey is probably looping the hallway footage too, where they’re gonna come from, and Peter swallows hard. His anticipation is a cloud all over him, and he keeps thinking <em>TONY TONY TONY</em> and he needs to get his strength from them and then let Rhodey take him. So he can go. So he can go save Tony.</p><p>He lays there for what feels like forever, his own voice screaming at him and berating him and telling him he’s wrong wrong wrong, and he cracks his jaw and keeps glancing over at Helen, who seems like an expert at this, at making little movements with her mouse and keeping relatively still. Peter wonders how long he’s gonna have to wait for Rhodey to be done with the looping—</p><p>but then Helen gets to her feet and walks over to him, a new urgency in her eyes and the way she’s holding her shoulders.</p><p>“He said you have about ten minutes with them before they need to go again,” Helen says. She reaches out and holds onto Peter’s wrist, smiling at him sadly. “You’re gonna get through this. I know you are. Just hold on, alright?”</p><p>Peter feels tears in his eyes again and he nods at her. “Thank you,” he says, his voice breaking.</p><p>“Of course, sweetheart,” she says, and in a flash she’s walking away and out the back door. He’s alone for a second, his heartbeat loud and sent out like he’s broadcasting it over a loudspeaker.</p><p>And then the door Helen left through opens again.</p><p>May, MJ and Ned clamor inside like an angry hoard, Ned quickly slamming the door shut with both hands as soon as they’re all inside. Peter sits up, breathing hard through his mouth, and he’s about to move when he remembers he’s cuffed to the bed. He warps the bar when he moves too hard and he can feel the cuff starting to crack, but he can’t do that. Even if the loop is running right now, he can’t do that. He could give himself away. </p><p>But God they’re right there and he wants to go to them <em>he needs to go to them—</em></p><p>But they come to him, they race across the room like they’re attached at the hip, moving in time with each other, and May emerges once she’s within arm’s length of him, launching herself at him and wrapping her arms around him. He pulls at his restrained arm again so he can hold her properly because <em>oh my god oh my god</em> and she’s crying and clutching at him and he buries his face in her shoulder because <em>it’s May it’s May.</em></p><p>“My baby,” she sobs, holding him so tight, running her hands through his hair. “God, Peter.”</p><p>“May.”</p><p>“God, you’re a blond now,” she says. She kisses his cheek over and over, leans back and kisses his forehead and his nose and she wipes his tears away. She holds his face in her hands and her eyes trace all over him like she’s seeing him for the first time, and he can’t believe it he can’t believe it. She kisses him again and she stares at him and he feels like he’s gonna break apart, because it’s her, because it’s <em>them</em>, and he can tell she doesn’t want to let go of him but she steps back to make way for—</p><p>Ned, who nearly tackles him, who’s nearly on top of the bed and him too, and Peter’s heard Ned cry but he’s never heard him cry like this, and Peter feels like his heart is soaring—</p><p>“Oh man, dude,” Ned says, pulling back and patting Peter’s shoulders. “Oh man, it’s so good—it’s <em>so good to see you.</em>”</p><p>“You too,” Peter coughs, reaching up and wiping away a tear, then grabbing onto Ned’s shoulder. </p><p>He moves aside too, like he doesn’t want to, either, and then MJ is standing there. Her look is different—she stares at him like she doesn’t believe he’s actually there, like she doesn’t think he’s real, like she thinks this is a dream or something. He’s been there, he gets that, and his heart aches for her. </p><p>“MJ,” he says, May rubbing his arm beside him as both she and Ned step back a bit. </p><p>MJ looks down at her own feet, and for a second he isn’t sure if she’s gonna come over to him, but before that thought he can even settle she surges forward. She doesn’t wrap her arms around him like May and Ned did, but she places her hands on either side of his neck and presses their foreheads together. </p><p>He closes his eyes and breathes her in. He just breathes her in. </p><p>“I missed you,” she whispers, after what feels like forever. “A little too much.”</p><p>He snorts, stupidly, embarrassingly. “Wow, I’m surprised you’d admit that.”</p><p>She pulls back, and looks at him hard. “Don’t make me take it back, blondie.”</p><p>He laughs, and now that they’ve all had their individual time they converge on him in a group, May sitting on one side of him, Ned on the other, MJ in front of him and pressed up against his knees. May looks at the handcuffs and glares, the heat of her anger radiating off of her, and Peter doesn’t know what the hell to say to them. He doesn’t know whether to start spilling out the whole story or telling them what he’s gonna do, and he feels like if he does that he’s just going to worry them, and that’s along the lines of putting more people in danger and he doesn’t want to do that. </p><p>If he could stop everybody he loves from ever experiencing pain, he’d do it.</p><p>He doesn’t think about how that would mean he’d have to leave their lives. Erase every trace of his existence. Because he’s the source. He’s the problem.</p><p>“It’s gonna be over soon,” May says, reaching up and brushing his hair back. “We don’t know all the details, but—”</p><p>“It will be,” Peter says, fast. He wants to spill, he wants to go all out, and he keeps staring at them and staring and looking around and he knows he doesn’t have that much time. </p><p>“You don’t have to convince us,” Ned says, holding onto his shoulder. “You know we know.”</p><p>“We were there,” MJ says. “This is bullshit.”</p><p>“It has been from moment one,” May says, gently. “But we’ve been talking to Rhodey and Pepper and we know it’s coming to a head, baby. She’s in DC right now with Morgan, speaking for you. It’s gonna get fixed. Most people out there aren’t convinced, anyway. The ones that are never had brains in their heads to begin with.” She shakes her head and straightens up a bit, and he can see the tears in her eyes. “Are you alright, sweetheart? We, uh—”</p><p>“We know and we don’t know,” Ned says. “It’s hard to talk about things anywhere.”</p><p>MJ rubs Peter’s knee and Peter lets out a stilted little sigh. “I’m alright,” he says. “Banged up, but—alright. Here.” <em>Better that I’m with you but still there’s the issue of TONY—</em></p><p>“Where’s Tony?” MJ asks, almost like she’s reading his mind.</p><p>It stings, even though every moment is a constant reminder, and he hangs his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “They got him,” Peter says, voice shaking. “But we’re gonna—we’re gonna get him back, we’re gonna fix it, and then we’re gonna be able to—release everything and just—start fixing this.”</p><p>“They can’t take you back,” May says, and she sounds like she isn’t sure when she says it, her voice wavering like the very idea is hard to entertain. </p><p>He can’t go back. He can’t.</p><p>“Not after what—we’re gonna show them,” Peter says, trying to maintain his breathing. “Most they’ll do is have another trial and they won’t be able to blow this one, with all the evidence we have.”</p><p>“And you’re protecting it?” MJ asks. “Keeping it safe? Away from them?”</p><p>Peter thinks they are, he thinks so, but then he remembers Friday missing the truck coming for them and he doesn’t know how the hell that happened. He reaches out with his free hand and cover’s MJ’s hand on his knee, and she threads their fingers together. </p><p>“Should be,” he says. “Yeah. Yeah.” He looks around at them again and he can feel his lower lip trembling. He’s afraid and he’s relieved and he doesn’t know what to do or say but he can feel himself gaining strength just from being around them, just from looking at them. </p><p>He has to go soon. He doesn’t know what’ll happen. He feels big and small at the same time. Incapable and lost and hurt, and strong and sure and steadfast. What he is and what they make him. </p><p>They don’t have much time.</p><p>“Can you guys, uh—” He swallows hard. “I’ve missed you guys so much, and, uh—” <em>And I’m falling apart and I need to be put back together and I need some more of that strength for what I have to do, help me, please help me—</em> “Uh, uh, I need, just, uh, someone to—you guys to <em>please</em> hold me—”</p><p>He feels incredibly stupid even saying it but they move in without another word, without anything else, without a question. May and Ned hug him on either side where they’re sitting, and MJ presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before she tucks her face into his neck, holding him tight.</p><p>Peter can feel the way he’s warping the handcuffs and the bed bar trying to grasp onto May, but he closes his eyes and breathes in and out.</p><p>
  <em>They’re here. They’re here. It’s almost over. He’s gonna get Tony. He’s gonna fix this. He’s gonna get his life back.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He has to.</em>
</p><p>~</p><p>He only gets a couple more minutes with them before May gets a text from Rhodey, which ushers them back out the door. All three of them kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and Ned doing it too makes Peter laugh but then they’re gone again. Then he’s alone again. Then, for a moment, he’s a criminal handcuffed to a hospital bed. </p><p>Then Rhodey comes back into the room. </p><p>And he’s still not meeting Peter’s eyes. </p><p>“Sorry,” he says, sweeping over to him. “I wish it could have been longer.”</p><p>Peter watches him notice what he did to the bar and the handcuffs and Rhodey does look at him then, and Peter grits his teeth as Rhodey shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything though, just uncuffs him from the bar and undoes the nearly-broken, kinda cracked handcuffs all together, hanging them on his belt. He helps him off the bed and turns him around, heaving a sigh.</p><p>“Try not to do that with this next pair, huh?” Rhodey asks, quietly, which makes Peter wonder if, now that the footage isn’t looping, that the cameras are taking audio in here. </p><p>Peter nods, and Rhodey pulls his hands behind his back again and locks a new pair of handcuffs around his wrists. Peter is quickly getting sick of it and he can’t wait to break out of these and get the hell out of here. </p><p>They’re in the home stretch. Just a little bit more walking, theatrics, whatever, then an audio-less interrogation and it’s good to go. Good to go.</p><p>“Helen took care of you, right?” Rhodey asks, close to his ear. “You feeling any better?” He sounds like he might want to ask something else, but he doesn’t. </p><p>Peter doesn’t know what he feels. He still can’t clock it or figure it out but he doesn’t want to waste any more time. “I’m okay,” he says. He still has the tracker. It’s burning a hole in his pocket. </p><p>“Okay,” Rhodey says. He walks him forward and they leave through the same door that the others came and went through, and Peter wants to know who is watching them, who’s protecting them, who else is here, if they were here before he called or if Rhodey had them brought in. There’s so much he wants to know but he keeps his mouth shut as they move through the hallway, as they pass by more people, as more people stare at him and look disgusted and he doesn’t look at them <em>he doesn’t look at them.</em></p><p>He remembers that bit of news he caught, and how they think that he killed that man Norman sent after him. The one Norman killed. He wonders, briefly, what they think his body count is. How many people Beck killed in Europe. He sways a bit and hates himself for not being able to save them, hates himself all over again for being fooled by Beck’s lies.</p><p>Beck knew exactly how to play him. Knew that his mentor was out of commission and that was his weak spot.</p><p>
  <em>TONY TONY TONY</em>
</p><p>“C’mon, kid,” Rhodey says. Peter thinks he may push him or urge him along or something <em>theatrical</em>, but he doesn’t. Peter feels sick and doesn’t know if he should play this up or what, and he flinches away from Rhodey, tries to put on a different expression. But Rhodey doesn’t exactly seem to be playing along right now.</p><p>
  <em>YOUR PLAN IS FAILING IT’S FAILING YOU’RE A FAILURE YOU’RE NOTHING TONY IS DYING HE’S DYING THEY’RE GONNA KILL HIM—</em>
</p><p>They load into the elevator and Rhodey pushes the button for the sub-basement, and Peter stands there again, flexing his wrists. </p><p>“I hate doing this shit to you,” Rhodey says, quiet again, and Peter almost doesn’t hear it. “I hate it.”</p><p>Peter narrows his eyes. Is this part of the theatrics? Does he actually hate it? Peter figures he probably does but he can’t get inside his head, can barely function inside his own. He wonders and wonders and wonders and God he wants to just talk to him, like he used to. He wants normal back in every aspect so desperately that he can almost taste it. </p><p>“Me too,” he says, simply, unsure if that makes it better or worse. </p><p>The elevator opens and this has always been Peter’s least favorite part of the facility, even though he only came down here once, back in the beginning when things were still burning, when he was still back new. They never had to use the holding cells here, not yet, anyway—crime didn’t stop, in fact it just got more overwhelming, for a while, but none of the events reached the heights of having to store criminals in an Avengers facility.</p><p>He’s the first one.</p><p>It’s darker down here, like it was built to be intimidating, and Rhodey walks him all the way to the end of the hall before he stops. He scans into the last room on the right, and Peter quickly takes stock—they’re right across from the stairwell that leads down into storage. He swallows, trying to will his heart to just <em>calm down</em> for a second, because they’re close to the finish line <em>he’s gonna get Tony he’s gonna get Tony—</em></p><p>Rhodey walks him inside and lets the door seal shut. He uncuffs one wrist, leading him over to sit down at the table. Peter sees where this is going and he stretches his arms out, where Rhodey links the handcuff chain through a ring in the middle of the table, and then he closes the other cuff around Peter’s wrist again. Peter’s grateful, because this will be easier to get out of than if his hands were behind his back. </p><p>Rhodey keeps avoiding his eyes, and Peter wonders if that’s because he hates this that much. He doesn’t want him to feel bad. He doesn’t want anybody to feel bad. Jesus, he just wants it to be over. Rhodey sits across from him and, finally, he looks at him again. </p><p>“They can’t hear us,” Rhodey says, leaning forward. “Where’s Tony at?”</p><p>Peter’s heart is raging and he stands up, half bent over, and he leans on the table, tilting. “I’ve got a tracker in my pocket,” he says. “Inside jacket pocket. He’s on there in some Oscorp lab in Hell’s Kitchen, with Norman.”</p><p>Rhodey gets up and walks over, unzipping Peter’s pocket and taking the tracker out. They both sit back down, and Peter finally feels like things are moving, he’s gonna get Tony, this is gonna happen.</p><p>“It’s tracking both of them,” Peter says, watching as Rhodey turns it on, inspecting it. “And William, one of Beck’s people, and Steve and Natasha and Beck himself.”</p><p>Rhodey nods, and the little hologram pops up, showing exactly where Tony is. Peter sees his vitals again and feels a little sick. He’s okay, he’s okay, but it’s a reminder that Peter <em>has to go</em>. Rhodey checks on Steve and Natasha too, and Peter sees how close they are. </p><p>“They’re maybe an hour out,” Rhodey says. “Less.”</p><p>“Good,” Peter says. “Good, good. It’s almost over. So now we just gotta like, find a layout of Norman’s lab so we can try and be prepared, to—to find Tony.”</p><p>Rhodey sighs, rubbing his hand over his head. He closes out the hologram and sets the tracker on the table. Out of Peter’s reach.</p><p>“So storage is right underneath us right?” Peter asks, balling his hands into fists but trying not to strain against the cuffs, for fear of breaking them again. “And then the rest of the jets are in the garage part? I can just fly them out, right? Well, Friday’ll be flying, I guess. I can’t fly. Not really. There was only the one time.”</p><p>Rhodey is looking at him now. He doesn’t stop looking at him, and there’s a pain in his eyes now that makes Peter nervous.</p><p>“What?” Peter says, well aware of his nervous rambling in the subsequent silence. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong? Is something happening?”</p><p>Rhodey sighs again, and Peter’s never noticed any nervous ticks when it comes to him, but he squeezes the tracker and picks at his own nails. </p><p>And then.</p><p>“You’re not going, Peter,” Rhodey says. </p><p>Peter isn’t sure he heard him correctly. A chill runs through him, and he rattles his hands in the cuffs. </p><p>But now, he’s—</p><p>He rattles his hands again, and he feels the lack of give, he feels the painful memories shoot through him and he rattles his hands <em>again—</em></p><p>“I’m gonna go, with a team of people we can trust, and you’re gonna stay here, protected. Because we haven’t been able to fucking protect you since all this shit started and I’m not gonna let you run out and get yourself killed right after we get you back. Especially while Tony is in danger and isn’t here. He’d kill me. He’d kill me if you showed up to get him and I had any capability of stopping it.”</p><p>“No,” Peter breathes, his voice hardly audible, and he feels dizzier than he did before because of the cuffs and because he should have known and he should have known <em>and he should have known—</em></p><p>“I’m sorry,” Rhodey says, and his voice breaks. “I’m sorry for the whole goddamn thing, everything you’ve had to endure, and putting you back in vibranium cuffs when I know full well those assholes took advantage of keeping you down, but I knew you wouldn’t like this and would never agree and you’d tear this place up unless I—”</p><p>“Rhodey, <em>please</em>,” Peter says, voice breaking now, and he tries to reach for him but the cuffs hold him back and Rhodey hangs his head. “Please, please, I have to go with you, I have to go get him, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault, and him being there and in danger is my fault and I can’t let anybody else get hurt because of something I’ve done, not you, not anybody, <em>please, please—</em>” His breath catches and he shakes his head and he strains against the handcuffs but he actually can’t break them, Rhodey did this, he <em>did this—</em></p><p>“I’m sorry, Peter, I’m sorry,” Rhodey says, not looking at him again. He takes the tracker, starts to get up, and Peter tries to get out again, his movements loud and wild, but he’s stuck he’s <em>stuck</em>. “But Thor is here and Sam is here and they’re gonna protect you. There’s nobody here who would go against you, alright? Even if some of them looked dumbfounded seeing you here, they’re not like Norman’s goddamn goons. I’m gonna go get Tony and we’re gonna out Norman and release everything. Nobody’s taking you again, that’s it, we’re not letting them.”</p><p>Peter can’t think. He can’t think.</p><p>He’s—</p><p>Rhodey is moving to the <em>door—</em></p><p>“No, no, please,” Peter says, still clamoring and trying to get out but he can’t he can’t. “Please don’t, Rhodey, please, I can’t—”</p><p>“I’ve been doing this for a long time,” Rhodey says, standing over by the door, and he quickly wipes at his eyes like he doesn’t want Peter to see. “Okay? It’ll be okay. I’m not having you hurt or taken. Not again. Tony’s my best friend and he loves you and he’d never want you risking yourself if you didn’t have to, no matter what you think—”</p><p>“But I <em>do</em> have to—”</p><p>“No matter <em>what</em> you think,” Rhodey says. “You’re safer here. I’m gonna go get him and bring him back and we’re gonna end this.”</p><p>Peter knows what’s happened to Rhodey, in the past, he knows what happened to Tony and where Tony is now and who got Tony into this to begin with and how much danger Tony is in after the coma, what he’s put himself through, and no no no, no no no—</p><p>“Thor and Sam are gonna make sure nobody gets at you,” Rhodey says, hand already raised to scan himself out, and Peter is gonna fucking lose it. “They’ll bring you food, let you go take a shower, depending on how long I’m gone. Bruce is with May and the kids.”</p><p>“Rhodey!” Peter yells, his voice ragged and echoing in the small room, and he’s standing and he’s shaking and he has to stop him, it has to be him—</p><p>“You’ll know as soon as I’m back,” Rhodey says, and he glances at him once more before he scans out, quickly leaving.</p><p>The door seals shut again.</p><p>He hears it seal shut.</p><p>With him here, in vibranium handcuffs.</p><p>He can’t fucking get out.</p><p>“Rhodey!” Peter screams, so loud that it runs his throat raw. “Rhodey! No! No, no, come back! Come back, I—I can do it, I can, I—I can do it, please, please—” He takes a couple steps back, as many as he can until his arms are stretched out in front of him and he pulls and pulls and pulls, gritting his teeth, and the cuffs cut into his wrists but he doesn’t care because this can’t happen, more people can’t get hurt, and images plague him like they’re playing out before his eyes—Rhodey and whoever else he brings dying right in front of Tony, the public never knowing, Norman moving Tony and keeping him, figuring out the tracker and removing it, and then Rhodey is gone and people are dead and Peter can never find Tony again—</p><p>“No, no, c’mon,” Peter says, straining and pulling until he feels like his eyes are gonna pop, and the chain scrapes against the ring in the table it’s attached to, making noises like a sinking ship. “C’mon,” Peter gasps, nearly sobs, and his anger and fear and horror spike for a moment and he slams his forearms on the table, making it shake. He does it once twice and then again and the table dents under his arms.</p><p>
  <em>IT COULD BE FINE IT COULD BE FINE HE’S A SUPERHERO TOO</em>
</p><p>
  <em>but his whole team might not be and Rhodey has almost died before, Norman is a wildcard Norman is a killer—</em>
</p><p>It’s too much, it’s too much, and he’s in the in-between of here and his scarred-up memories, each step he took in the Raft stamped onto his feet now, his faltering movements, and he’s the last of his burns except now they’re flaring up again, all over him, in a fire that’s filling up the whole room. He can see it like it’s real, can feel the lick of the flames all around him, and he strains and pulls and cries out, already cutting into his skin trying to work his wrists out. </p><p>Even though he knows he can’t. </p><p>He knows he can’t, because he’s been here before, and he’s expecting blows, he’s expecting a broken nose and someone kicking out his knee from behind, he’s expecting an arm around his neck, and he tries and he tries and the car crash replays in his mind, flipping and flipping and Tony gone, Peter with nothing to act on, nowhere he could go, and he’s too weak and too hurt and he reeks of failure, every day, all the goddamn time.</p><p>Now more than ever.</p><p>He flails between the worlds of his memories and he’s not yelling any words anymore, no, he’s just yelling like an animal and he doesn’t even know who can hear him, who can’t, who would even want to hear him like this, because he knows his family wouldn’t, and where are they, and where <em>are they</em>, and can Bruce even protect them on his own? Is he on his own?</p><p>Rhodey didn’t share. He was probably planning this all along. That’s why he couldn’t look him in the eye. </p><p>
  <em>TO PROTECT YOU TO PROTECT YOU</em>
</p><p>
  <em>to get himself killed and others too</em>
</p><p>Peter keeps straining against his bonds and doesn’t feel betrayal, only sadness, only fear, only the lack of trust and the constant possibility of more carnage piling on his head. He knows Rhodey doesn’t know the full extent of his trauma, or anything that happened in the Raft, not really—so he doesn’t actually know what he’s putting Peter through, doing this. Snapping these particular handcuffs back on him. Now, when Tony—when Tony—</p><p>Everything piles on top of him like tons of concrete. </p><p>And then the ring in the table breaks from the strength of the vibranium chain, from the pressure Peter is putting on it, and he stumbles backwards and hits the left wall, sliding down to the ground. The way his bad leg crumples up makes him wince, jarring the wound that’s attempting to heal, but he struggles back up to his feet again and rushes over to the door. His hands are still chained together, new red, raw rings forming over the old ones, and he slams his fists on the door, over and over and over.</p><p>He doesn’t care who lets him out. He just needs to get out. He has to go help Rhodey. He knows he’s probably already gone, already rushing off after Tony, and all the different parts of Peter can’t blame him but most of them are screaming <em>TAKE ME TAKE ME LET IT BE ME.</em></p><p>“Help me!” Peter yells, not even worried anymore about himself, who might hear, who might try. He already let Tony down once, leaving him there for Norman’s goons to take after the crash. He’s not gonna let him down again, especially when Rhodey is involved now, when Rhodey is in danger, too.</p><p>The Raft tries to superimpose itself on top of this world, tries to drag him back in, back down, and whenever he blinks he sees them, in their white uniforms. All the inmates Norman moved around to put in his path. All the guards he paid off. They’re everywhere. They’re moving for him. They’ve got weapons.</p><p>They’re here now.</p><p>Peter slams and slams on the door, trying to ignore the handcuffs, trying not to close his eyes.</p><p>He doesn’t know how long he goes on for because time is still out of his grasp, still something he has to relearn, but he stops when he hears a commotion. </p><p>He hears something. </p><p>Peter takes a few steps back, holding his hands close to his chest, and he’s gotta clock this, he’s gotta focus, he’s gotta figure out if something is happening or if it’s just—</p><p>He hears a bang. What sounds like a gunshot.</p><p>No. It’s not normal.</p><p>Peter closes his eyes and tries to concentrate. He knows his senses have been off but this is <em>important, it’s important</em>, and he’s been in this facility, he’s spent substantial time here and he tries to visualize it. Tries to steep himself in that and move away from his fear and his panic and <em>concentrate.</em></p><p>More gunshots, somewhere far in another wing.</p><p>People yelling. </p><p>Hard footsteps, rushing. People running away.</p><p>The clink of handcuffs.</p><p>“<em>You can’t do this goddamnit, I have every right—</em>”</p><p>Rhodey’s voice. Rhodey?</p><p>“<em>We’re taking you in, sir, orders—</em>”</p><p>What’s happening, what’s happening? </p><p>Something’s going on that’s not fucking good, and Peter sucks in a breath, trying to gear himself up. They must be here. Actually here.<em>They</em>. The goddamn assholes, and shouldn’t Peter have known? Shouldn’t he have known they wouldn’t allow Rhodey to do this?</p><p>There are a lot of things he should have known.</p><p>And they could be hurting him, they could be hurting him, and May and MJ and Ned were <em>here</em> and are they still fucking here? Are they?</p><p>“Oh God,” Peter whispers, looking up at the ceiling and straining against the handcuffs again unconsciously, because he has to help them he has to and what was the goddamn plan, again? What was the plan? How was he gonna get out of here? Rhodey was supposed to leave the door open, make the hand scanner let him through but Rhodey <em>locked him in here</em> and now he’s <em>trapped</em> and they’re here they’re here and his family they’re <em>they’re—</em></p><p>He rushes over and tries the hand scan because he should have already done it but it doesn’t work, and he can still hear gasps of what’s going on out there because his sixth sense or whatever is still so fucking wonky and he can’t see he can barely hear barely focus and they’re out there and May and Ned and MJ and they did something to Rhodey and Tony <em>Tony</em></p><p>
  <em>and he’s in vibranium fucking handcuffs and he’s fought like this before but he doesn’t know how many of them are out there and there are plenty of people he loves and civilians they can use against him and he’s essentially being served up on a platter</em>
</p><p>The door starts to open and Peter scurries back, his heart in his throat, and it’s happening it’s happening it’s happening—</p><p>Sam slips inside, and Thor right after him.</p><p>Peter’s hands are balled into fists and he’s ready to fight and now he doesn’t know what the hell is happening, because as happy as he is to see them, he thinks of Beck, he thinks of what Beck did, what he could make happen, and Peter wheels around the other side of the table, cracking his jaw.</p><p>“It’s us, little spider,” Thor says, his hands up in front of him. “It’s us.”</p><p>It looks like them. It looks like them. Peter can hear more insanity happening out there, and he tunes in and out because his focus is still all over the place, and he keeps looking back and forth between Thor and Sam.</p><p>“Kid, it’s us, I promise,” Sam says, sounding exasperated. </p><p>“We aren’t the illusions of that ridiculous failed sorcerer,” Thor says, trying to edge closer to Peter, his hands still up.</p><p>“Tell me something only you would know,” Peter says, remembering what Tony did with Steve and Natasha. “Tell me, uh, about—while Tony was in the coma—”</p><p>“I wasn’t there much, sadly,” Thor says, still getting closer to him, slowly. “But I do recall the long discussion we had over—over pepperoni pizza, about Asgard and its people and New Asgard and what I’ve done there—you let me go on for far too long, and I think that was more due to your kindness than any real interest—”</p><p>“No,” Peter says, fast. “No, I was totally—yeah, I guess you’re—you’re you.” No one else was around for that. It went on long after the rest of them had gone to sleep. Peter will never forget watching Thor order the pizza and greet the delivery girl. He’ll never forget actually getting to spend time with <em>Thor</em>, and how it made him feel better, for just a moment. </p><p>“I’m me,” Sam says, tapping something in his ear. His eyes cut over to Peter again and he sighs, because Peter is still staring at him, Peter still wants proof. <em>It’s what Tony would do</em>. “I’m me and your Aunt has, uh, a penchant for jasmine tea, and she never sleeps longer than an hour or so at night without being woken up by God knows what.” He clears his throat and sighs. “Is that enough? Because I’ve picked up a lot of her eccentricities in these last couple days, I could share.”</p><p>“No, that’s—that’s a lot,” Peter says, blinking, trying not to think too hard about the implications there. His relief falls over him in waves but it isn’t enough to outweigh everything else. His vision is still blurring and he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s on the verge of tears or if it’s because he’s just losing his goddamn mind, and Thor gets closer, resting his hands on Peter’s wrists.</p><p>“Breathe in and breathe out, small spider,” Thor says, eyes wide and focusing on his. He nods at him, and he seems strangely concerned. </p><p>“We’re gonna get out of here,” Sam says. “There’s some more goddamn shit going down, as if we’ll ever get a break.”</p><p>“And I’ve got the key to your manacles,” Thor says, striking a chord in Peter’s heart. “Rhodes gave us copies just in case something happened—”</p><p>“And something did?” Peter asks, holding out his trembling hands to Thor. <em>Take them off take them OFF—</em></p><p>“Goddamn Osborn assholes are running the place down,” Sam says, still clearly listening to a com in his ear. “They arrested Rhodey—”</p><p>“They <em>arrested</em> him?” Peter nearly yells, yanking his hands back with the force of his shock.</p><p>“Yes,” Thor says, half growling, and he undoes each cuff and frees Peter, casting them aside so they land on the table. “I nearly came to blows—”</p><p>“Wait, where are May and my friends?” Peter asks, gasping. “Where are they? Are they safe?”</p><p>“Bruce already got them out,” Thor says. </p><p>Peter nods. <em>Thank God.</em></p><p>“There was always a plan of action for them in case anything happened, and Bruce is very proficient. Although we did anticipate something, this was—a bigger response than Rhodes imagined—”</p><p>“Listen, he told us what to do, and that was get him the hell out of here,” Sam says, pointing at Peter. He sighs and narrows his eyes, and looks at Peter again. “He knows you’re not safe here if they’re here, but he also knew exactly where you were gonna go if we got you out. He told us everything before they showed up knocking down doors.”</p><p>“He’s right,” Peter says, rubbing at his wrists. He feels resolute. “And he’s even more right now. They’re trying to make moves, they’re trying—”</p><p>“He wanted me to stop you,” Sam says. “He wanted us to move you and get you safe and that’s it.”</p><p>Peter’s dizziness reaches new heights. He doesn’t want to fight them. He doesn’t want to have to fight people on his own side to get to Tony. But he <em>will</em>. “Sam, I <em>have—</em>”</p><p>“But I’m not gonna stop you.”</p><p>Peter stares at him. He feels like he’s lost all capacity to breathe, and Thor grips his shoulder. </p><p>“We’re going to get you out,” Thor says, nodding at him. “And we’ll deal with these morons, and then we’ll follow right behind. We can’t allow Tony to be in captivity much longer, but we can’t allow you to be without backup, either.”</p><p>“Rhodey’s gonna be pissed no matter what, but them doing this shit puts everything into high gear,” Sam says. </p><p>Peter nods, grasping at his own throat.</p><p>“Can you help me release the information?” he asks, heart pounding in his ears. There’s too much going on, too much happening, and he can almost feel the walls shaking with everything occurring outside. “And it’ll get Rhodey out? And get them in trouble for taking him?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” Sam says, as Thor takes Peter’s arm gently, leading him over to the door. “What they’re doing is fucking illegal—shit, it always has been, but they’re overplaying their hand, they’re getting sloppy, they just arrested a goddamn Colonel—it’s not...it’s not gonna work.” He shakes his head at Peter. “He’s gonna be pissed we let you go for Tony but you’re gonna be able to handle it, <em>right?</em>” Sam looks at him like he’s never looked at him before. They’ve had sort of a weird, older brother-younger brother relationship since they started getting to know each other, and Peter never really felt like Sam took him seriously. But this is serious, and he looks serious.</p><p>“Of course,” Peter says, nodding fast. <em>Right?</em></p><p>“And we’ll be right behind,” Thor says.</p><p>“<em>Right</em> behind,” Sam reiterates. “We’re not letting them get you again.”</p><p>“But he can do this,” Thor says, his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “He can. He’s the Amazing Spider-Man and Stark is a father figure to him. He won’t fail. It’s too important. Isn’t that right?”</p><p>Peter wets his lips. He feels <em>panicked</em> and he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth and that’s right, that’s right, that <em>is</em> right, Thor, and he said it so matter of fact, so sure that Peter feels small in the face of it. His trust. It builds him up too, that amount of confidence in him and his abilities, and he wonders if it’s real and true or if it’s just the worst case scenario so it’s something he has to say because there’s nothing else. </p><p>But he said it. And it’s true. Rhodey’s plan couldn’t work because they wouldn’t allow it to, because they have to blow everything up, because they want to get Peter back <em>so badly</em> and experiment on him and he could very well be heading into a trap but <em>it’s too important.</em></p><p>And he’s the Amazing Spider-Man. Just like Thor said. </p><p>That hasn’t changed.</p><p>“That’s right,” Peter says, swallowing hard.</p><p>Thor beams at him, clapping him on the shoulder. Sam nods too, and his hand hovers over the scanner. “We’ll get you to storage and then we’ll get you to the jet. You ready?”</p><p>Peter nods again, not thinking of anything but Tony.</p><p>“Alright,” Sam says, heaving a sigh. He presses his hand to the scanner and Peter hears the door unseal, and then it pops open. </p><p>They quickly move out into the hallway and he can already hear the yelling, the screaming, the occasional shots. <em>They better not be killing people not one single person not one single one.</em>They rush across the hall and into the stairwell, and everything echoes in his head as they go down, down, down. Thor is guiding him with a hand on his shoulder and Sam leads, and Peter’s sense goes in and out, loud and loud and loud before high pitched and drowning. </p><p>A man with a gun comes barreling out once they reach the next landing—he’s all tricked out in riot gear, but he’s alone. They all make for him but Sam lands two blows that knock him down in a broken heap.</p><p>“Keep going,” Sam says, and they do, they jump over him and go down and Peter thinks there are two more stairwells before they’re there, but he can hear the next group of armed men before he sees them, and they start shooting when they get the slightest glimpse of Sam coming around the corner. Thor yanks Peter back and then Sam too, surging out ahead of them.</p><p>“Take him the other way,” Thor yells, and he rushes down and into the fray with a loud yell, and Peter can already hear bodies being thrown.</p><p>Sam grabs Peter’s collar and turns him around, and they’re going up now, which is the wrong way, and he didn’t even know there was another way to go. They walk right over the guy they knocked out before and back out into the hallway, and the carnage is loud in Peter’s head, reverberating, and if they’re killing people trying to get to him he’ll never forgive himself, he never fucking will—</p><p>“In here,” Sam says, and he pulls Peter to the right, avoiding oncoming footsteps. They move behind closed doors and off into a steel room, which looks like a weird waiting room, with one small couch and two chairs. Then Sam tugs Peter over to the corner and he knocks on a panel with his fist, bringing out a keypad.</p><p>“Secret stairs?” Peter asks, wetting his lips and looking over his shoulder when he hears a crash. He’s hearing things from everywhere and he can’t tell how far away they are. Thank God May, Ned and MJ aren’t here anymore. He’s worrying about Thor. He’s worrying about everybody.</p><p>“Secret freight elevator,” Sam says, typing in a code that makes the rest of the wall open up. “And not so much secret as new. Or recently finished and not unveiled. Thought the stairs might be easier to navigate through, but I guess not.” The elevator doors open and Sam tugs Peter inside, and he selects the storage floor. The doors close again and Peter backs up against the wall, breathing hard. </p><p>“I know this is bullshit,” Sam says, looking over at it. “All of it, insanity, and you don’t deserve it, but you’re—you’re strong, Pete, alright? You’re gonna get through it. You’re gonna get past it and we’re all gonna be okay and it’s gonna be okay again. Alright? It’s gonna.”</p><p>Peter stares at him and he’s about to nod because God, he hopes so, but the doors open fast and Sam is already grabbing for him again. He’s expecting more of these assholes and he hears their commotion clanking around inside his head, but when they step out inside the storage room, they’re alone.</p><p>He glances around. There aren’t a lot of places to hide in here, and his senses are haywire but he doesn’t hear any breathing, doesn’t feel any imminent danger in this room. </p><p>Sam lets go of him and strides over to the left wall. This isn’t like Tony’s storage rooms, which are essentially like museums of his suits, everything on display. No, this feels like actual storage, and it’s laid out like all the shit the Vulture was trying to steal way back when. Everything in big industrial boxes and piled high, labeled well, and Sam tosses a couple boxes aside until he gets to one that says <em>PP-SM567. </em></p><p>“Tony made a lot of shit for Spider-Man while we were all dust,” Sam says, pulling the top off and searching through. “Guess it was his way of coping, I don’t know, but Rhodey keyed us all into it so we’d know where it was if they tried to come seize it. They were too stupid to think of that, I guess.”</p><p>He pulls out a suit and tosses it to Peter.</p><p>“A lot like your original,” Sam says, grabbing webshooters, too.</p><p>Peter feels way too many emotions holding this goddamn suit in his hands, something Tony made for him while he was gone, and he swallows hard and nods because he doesn’t have any time for that. “Okay, turn around,” he says.</p><p>Sam scoffs. “Like I wanna see your skinny little chicken thighs.”</p><p>Peter changes and doesn’t listen to everything he hears going on all over, and he can’t tell if it’s getting closer or if he’s just starting to panic again. But he soldiers through and he puts on the suit and adjusts the webshooters and puts on his mask and the screen powers up and then Karen says <em>HELLO PETER</em> and oh my God, oh my God.</p><p>“You done?” Sam says, glancing over his shoulder. “My communications are out, shit. You gotta go, webhead.”</p><p>“I’m done,” Peter says, close to tears because of everything. </p><p>“Okay, let’s head that way,” Sam says, turning around and leading him towards a door in the corner that must lead out into the main hallway. “That elevator can do some Harry Potter stair shit so they won’t be able to track it’s movements or where it went, even if they knew it was there.”</p><p>“We should have gone that way to begin with,” Peter says, following him, and the gunshots and rushing boots gain traction in his head when they move out into the hallway again, sinking their claws in—</p><p>
  <em>But no, you’re Spider-Man. You’re Spider-Man. </em>
</p><p>“Soon as I get my goddamn wings I’m after you,” Sam says, leading him into another stairwell. Peter hears the spray of bullets above their heads as they go and they pick up the pace, and the stairs are clear at the moment and they rush down them, trying to keep their footing. They go down two and Peter can hear them following, multiple people pursuing them, and they get to garage level and Sam kicks the door open. </p><p>Tons of guns on them, all shooting, and Peter pulls Sam back inside and holds the door closed.</p><p>“Goddamnit,” Sam says. </p><p>“I’ll go on my own,” Peter says, his mouth dry. He feels stronger in the suit, even though the aches and pains are still flaring up, even though he’s still full of fear. “You go get your wings. Which jet?”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” Sam says, blowing out a breath. “You’re still coded into all of them. Voice controlled.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam says. “Rhodey didn’t get to clear that out, not that I know about. If it doesn’t work just do the code. 1991.” </p><p>Someone on the other side of the door starts pounding on it, and then they start shooting. But the bullets don’t come through, not yet, anyways. Sam presses one hand against it, and grabs Peter’s shoulder with the other. “Don’t get fucking shot,” he says. “Let Friday drive, the blast doors will open automatically and she’ll know how to get out. Just don’t get shot. Move as fast as you can. I know you’re fast.”</p><p>Peter’s heartbeat is louder than anything else he hears. “Thank you for helping me,” he says.</p><p>“Every time, Spidey,” Sam says. “Soon as I deal with these fucks, I’m gonna let everything go. Leak all the info, let everybody see it. Then they’ll be here with Beck and we’ll take down Norman. And I’ll be after you right quick, with Thor’s thunder on my heels. You find the old man and run but if they engage you, remember we’re coming.”</p><p>Peter nods. They look at each other for a couple of seconds, and then Sam lets go of him, lets go of the door. </p><p>Peter takes a breath. Tries to clear his mind. Tries to be the best version of himself there is, and the voices in his head aren’t arguing anymore, no, they become one, they become a fractured but stronger version of Spider-Man. Of Peter Parker. </p><p>One that needs to end this.</p><p>He reels back, grabs hold of the door handle, and slams forward, springing the door from its hinges in one big push. The shooting starts almost immediately, and Peter uses the door as a shield, hoping to God Sam took cover. Peter draws their fire away from him.</p><p>“Karen,” he says, shooting a web and attaching to the tall ceiling of the garage. “Uh, trajectory for the closest quinjet?”</p><p>“<em>Veer left, Peter, and I’ll tell you when to stop.</em>”</p><p>He veers left, holding the door back behind him, and he feels a bullet wiz by his ankle. He sees the jet she was talking about, and he tosses the door in the group’s direction, watching as it mows them down like bowling pins. </p><p>There are maybe about ten of them in here, and Peter lands by the jet’s scanpad, shooting webs behind him and pinning the two that were still standing to the wall behind them. </p><p>He doesn’t know what the hell to say to get it to recognize his voice.</p><p>“Uh…”</p><p>“<em>ACCEPTED.</em>”</p><p>Peter blinks and another bullet whizzes past him, then two, then a whole round, and he has to jump around to avoid them. He turns and shoots web bombs at the group that’s trying to make their way to their feet and towards him, and the ramp opens and Peter rushes up into the quinjet.</p><p>“Close the ramp, Friday!” Peter yells, once he’s all the way inside, and he hears the bullets bouncing and ricocheting. The ramp claps closed and Peter breathes hard, glancing around. </p><p>“<em>Where to, Peter?</em>”</p><p>“Can you search for the tracking Tony uploaded?” Peter asks, and he knows they’ve gotta get out of here now. “Just head towards Hell’s Kitchen. Oscorp lab there.”</p><p>“<em>Searching and taking off.</em>”</p><p>She lifts off without another word, and Peter topples to the ground as the jet moves into the main part of the garage and sweeps out into the world. They’re not exactly in the middle of the city but there are still around buildings and Peter watches through the window as Friday wheels around them, much like the man that made her in his own iron suit. </p><p>Peter wishes he would have been able to get the goddamn nano housing unit before he left, if Rhodey even worked on it. He just has to protect Tony, once he busts him out. He has to get him out of there, and then he has to confront Norman. </p><p>Norman, who wants to take him.</p><p>Norman, who set this trap.</p><p>Norman, who’d let him die in a lower lair in the Raft if it meant he got to do his experiments.</p><p>Whatever the hell they are.</p><p>Peter sighs, and sits in the seat in front of the control panel.</p><p>“<em>It’s alright, Peter,</em>” Karen’s voice says. </p><p>An echo of Tony’s comfort. </p><p>Peter nods, but doesn’t say anything back. </p><p>~</p><p>It doesn’t take long for Friday to locate the tracking on the secure server, and before Peter even knows it they’re hovering above the lab. They’ve been stealth the whole time but that didn’t put him at ease at all, because Norman is ahead of him and behind him and all around him, and Peter keeps replaying the car crash in his head, wondering in an incessant drone how the hell he found them.</p><p>But it doesn't matter now.</p><p>Peter changes himself again. </p><p>He sinks into his own desperation and finds a void where he can be calm, where he can be focused, where he can divert all this panic and fear and love into a shield that surges him forward. It’s like he’s inside himself, locked away inside a steel ball, and maybe he can come back out again once it’s over. Maybe he can be himself again once it’s over. Maybe he can collapse and cry and hyperventilate til he passes out then, then, when they’re not after him anymore, when everyone is safe.</p><p>But not now. </p><p>He makes himself different so he can do this. He swallows it all down. He buries it. His vision goes blurry at the edges like he’s got blinders on, his hearing goes high pitched and he didn’t know he could hone the sixth sense by losing a part of himself, by swallowing it down, by altering who he is. </p><p>His feelings simmer under the surface begging to be let go again. </p><p>But he just opens up the layout of the lab on his HUD and swings down without thinking.</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t let himself think.</em>
</p><p>He gets into the vents and crawls around like an actual spider, and part of himself is afraid at the way he’s acting, like half a robot, and his emotions rise in his heart before he clamps them back down again. <em>No no, that’s why people get hurt. That’s why you get hurt. That’s why he’s here to begin with. </em></p><p>Peter listens to Karen’s instructions, follows the tracking and the heat signature, and it’s like he’s stuck in a maze, up and down and around, and he tries not to choke on the dust and the fumes of whatever’s going on here, Norman’s goddamn experiments, and Peter keeps surging forward, not letting it all in, surging forward, surging forward—</p><p>—a crack, the memory of that field trip, the spider bite—</p><p>—Tony hugging him, in the safehouse—</p><p>—<em>I’ll see you soon. I love you. Go, go, go, Peter, goddamnit</em>—</p><p>He swallows it down again. Piles it with dirt. </p><p>“<em>Both Mac Gargan and Aleksei Sytsevich are on premises, Peter</em>,” Karen says. “<em>But Tony is currently unguarded and you are within range and very capable of breaking his bonds. They don’t seem to be made of vibranium, as per mine and Friday’s most recent scans. Would you like me to call a suit for him to wait outside with the quinjet?</em>”</p><p>That breaks through the walls Peter built to keep himself going and he falters a bit, nearly hitting his head on the vent above him. He breathes hard and nearly malfunctions and his worries try to escape and flutter in his eyes. “You can do that?” he asks.</p><p>“<em>Yes I can</em>,” Karen says. “<em>And don’t worry, they still aren’t alert to your presence. They don’t know about the jet because it’s out of their range. They do have stealth breaking technology that seems to be hit and miss with Tony’s different equipment.</em>”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, trying to recalibrate. “Okay.”</p><p>“<em>Would you like me to send for one of his suits?</em>”</p><p>“Yes,” Peter says, fast. He looks at the map and Karen blows it up a little bigger and he swallows hard and keeps going. </p><p>He doesn’t think, he doesn’t, he won’t, he breathes in and out and clears his mind and doesn’t think. He keeps going, and gets as close as he can in the vents before he has to drop down, and Karen picked out the perfect spot. A broom closet. </p><p>He waits. He waits until she tells him it’s clear and he doesn’t focus on his heart beating or the way his hands are trying to shake or how this shell he’s wrapped himself in is cracking.</p><p>He keeps moving.</p><p>He keeps going.</p><p>He doesn’t let himself be seen.</p><p>Karen keeps him away from a couple close calls and he goes down and down and it seems too easy and maybe it is, maybe they’re waiting, maybe—</p><p>Don’t think. He seals it off.</p><p>He goes down more stairwell and hides in the shadows when a few people pass, and then Karen helps him bypass the voice scanner outside the door where Tony is with an alter that makes him sound like Norman.</p><p>He gets inside, he gets inside—</p><p>It’s another lab, in a lower level, it just looks unused—</p><p>His heartbeat—</p><p>
  <em>No, no.</em>
</p><p>The tracking is close, it’s close, and it’s dark in here and the room is cavernous and big and full of shelving, no goddamn light anywhere.</p><p>“Karen,” Peter whispers, holding his hands out, trying to keep his footing. “Don’t I have night vision in this suit? I feel like that’s pretty basic.” His eyes keep seeking out the map on his HUD to make sure he’s moving in the right direction, and he veers off into the corner where the heat signature is, where the tracking is blinking. </p><p>The night vision comes on and suddenly, everything is clear. Peter can see more tables covered with sheets, more shelves and equipment along the wall.</p><p>And then—</p><p>Peter sees him. He sees him, he’s in the very back of the room but he’s there and Peter sees him—</p><p>His memories and his emotions try to break down the wall but he bites them back again, rushing over and wheeling around tables and refusing to allow himself to freak the fuck out like he wants to. </p><p>He doesn’t know if it looks this bad because he’s in night vision or if it just looks this bad.</p><p>He’s breaking apart—<em>NO, NO, FOCUS, DRAW BACK, FOCUS—</em></p><p>Tony is bound, gagged, blindfolded and strapped to a chair in the corner, and just seeing him like that makes Peter’s anger rip and tear at his own head. Karen immediately starts taking stock of his wounds, highlighting the dried blood on his forehead, alerting for a concussion, and the stoic stoniness Peter had to employ to get in here is trying to fail him. </p><p>Peter pulls his mask off, hits the corner of a table hard with his hip, and finally reaches him. It’s darker, without the night vision, of fucking course, but Peter wants to be able to see him with his own eyes. </p><p>Tony is bloodier than Peter thought he’d be and he wishes there was goddamn real light in here and he feels sick and it’s becoming impossible to stay impassive as much as he fucking wanted to, and all of his emotions are spilling out, like springs in a dam.</p><p>
  <em>he’s here he’s here he’s here</em>
</p><p>His voice is caught in his throat. Tony is breathing hard and looking around like he heard his footsteps and Peter feels insane, doesn’t say anything, just touches his shoulder. Tony flinches badly and starts talking through the gag, words that sound like cursing and anger, and Peter comes to his fucking senses and pulls the blindfold off his head. </p><p>Tony blinks and then he sees him, really sees him, and his face changes. He starts mumbling at him again, way different this time, and Peter stows his mask in his belt and moves fast behind him, working to undo the knots on the gag. Tony lectures him the whole time, muffled, and finally Peter gets it undone and pulls it out of his mouth. He tosses it aside.</p><p>“Goddamnit Peter,” Tony says, shaking his head and trying to crane his neck to see him. “Why? Why? Why are you the way you are?”</p><p>“Just to annoy you,” Peter says, in pure disbelief that he’s in front of him again. Tony’s hands are cuffed behind his back and Peter bends down to get a better look, and he wishes he had a flashlight or something.</p><p>“Dammit, it’s a fucking trap and I’m the bait,” Tony says, shifting angrily. “I’m the goddamn damsel—kid, isn’t it weird that you just walked in here? Huh? That they let you just walk in here?”</p><p>“How do you know they just let me?” Peter asks, relief washing over him even though they’re very much still in this.</p><p>“Well, shit, he’s got enhanced assholes looming around and Norman’s been giving me all kinds of long speeches about what the hell he’s gonna do to you when you show up, the fucking prick—”</p><p>“Stop moving, for a second,” Peter says, one hand on Tony’s arm. “I’m gonna break these.”</p><p>Tony heaves a huge, exasperated sigh, but he goes still. Peter grips the cuffs in the middle with one hand, and these are little more substantial than like, police handcuffs, but they’re still no match for him. He grips for a second and snaps them in half, and he pulls them off Tony’s wrists and throws them aside too. </p><p>“Goddamnit, Peter,” Tony says, as Peter unties the rope around his middle that’s strapping him to the chair. “I would have gotten out. Eventually. On my own time.”</p><p>“Yeah, would that have been fine with you if I said it in the Raft?” Peter asks, throwing that rope away and rushing back around to untie his ankles. “Would that have been okay?”</p><p>Tony sighs, glaring down at him, and Peter can still barely see in the darkness but he’d know that glare anywhere. “That’s different,” Tony says, as Peter frees his left foot. “Totally different, I had this. I had this.”</p><p>“Yeah, really looks like it,” Peter says, untying the right foot now. Once he’s completely free Peter grabs Tony’s hand and gently tugs him to feet. Tony winces and Peter can hear his joints creaking, and he has a hard time straightening up. </p><p>Peter tugs him in for a hug anyway. He buries his face in Tony’s shoulder and it’s not over and Peter still needs to be that guy, the one that’s him but Not Him, but the wall falls like it was hit with a wrecking ball, and he clutches at Tony, tears in his eyes.</p><p>“It’s okay, bud,” Tony says, holding onto him. “You’re okay. I’m okay.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Peter says, allowing himself to cling onto him for a moment more, and then he pulls back, breathing hard. Tony smiles fondly at him, reaching up and patting his cheek, and Peter nods, trying to get back on track. “We gotta get out of here. I’ve got a quinjet.” He starts ushering him back over to the door, pulling his mask back on.</p><p>“Surprised you didn’t crash it,” Tony says, holding onto Peter’s arm as they move, and he limps a little bit. </p><p>“No jokes about crashing,” Peter says, watching on his HUD for a moment they can slip out. “Like. Ever, probably.”</p><p>“Okay, fair,” Tony says, hissing a little bit. Peter quickly looks back and Tony shakes his head, reaching down and rubbing his knee. </p><p>“They didn’t give you any medical attention, did they?” Peter asks, distracted for a moment. It’s hard to see him, even with the night vision on again, but from how he’s behaving and moving, he doesn’t seem good. </p><p>“Oh yeah, the best they had,” Tony says. “AKA some guy with mustard on his shirt dousing me with water whenever I passed out. Good times.”</p><p>Peter groans, watching the red dots walk by on the map outside this door. None of them seem to be coming this way, but he’s ready if they do.</p><p>“I guess you hooked up with Rhodey in some capacity?” Tony asks. “Got a suit?”</p><p>“Sort of,” Peter says. “It’s complicated. They have him too, and that’s why I have to out Norman right now. Sam—”</p><p>And speaking of Sam—</p><p>“Wait. What? Huh? Who has Rhodey? Is Pepper alright? Morgan? Your family? What the hell is going on?”</p><p>“Pepper wasn’t there,” Peter says, leaning against the wall. “She’s okay, Morgan too. Wait—Karen, is the information out? Did Sam do it?”</p><p>Karen starts listing things out on the HUD—internet articles, social media conversations, and it’s everything they have, all of it moving and circulating and oh my God, oh my God—</p><p>“Sam do what?” Tony asks. “Kid, what’s happening—”</p><p>“Sam released the info,” Peter says, shaking, seeing people defending him on Twitter, news sites changing their tune. People demanding to hear from Norman. He swallows hard and checks the tracking on Natasha, Steve and Beck.</p><p>They’re close. They’re nearly in the city.</p><p>Peter sways.</p><p>“The information is out?” Tony asks. “Shit—”</p><p>“We gotta get you out of here,” Peter says. There are two more dots heading this way, and he’s afraid they’re gonna head for the door, but they pass by. Some of the other dots around the rest of the lab are moving faster now, and he can’t find a fix on which one Norman is. </p><p>“Get me out? Peter—”</p><p>Karen almost seems to read his mind, which is a little weird, and shows him that she has two suits available and a third on standby for Tony, up with the quinjet. </p><p>“I’m not going anywhere. I’m fighting with you. I’m not leaving you.”</p><p>Peter narrows his eyes. He feels a little dizzier. </p><p>“I’ve got suits waiting for you,” Peter says, hardly hearing his own voice, like he’s in a cavern somewhere, no longer inside himself. “By the jet. To protect you and—get you out of here.”</p><p>“Even more reason for me to stay,” Tony says.</p><p>Peter doesn’t physically fall but something inside him breaks, and it’s all culminating now, and he knows it has to be him to get Norman because Norman is crazy and now that the information is out he’ll either run until they can’t find him or take out everybody that comes his way. Peter doesn’t know if he should have told Sam to wait, but the only things to wait for now are Beck’s arrival, which may have already happened, and for Norman to get taken down, which is Peter’s job, the thing he’s in the middle of right now. So there’s nothing to wait for but him, but him and his splitting heart and his wounded feelings, and he’s got Tony now so he just has to get him clear and then Norman. Then Norman.</p><p>The man who wants to cut him open. </p><p>Can he do it? He’s Spider-Man again but he’s so fucking broken and he doesn’t want to be but he <em>is</em> and why is it clawing at him now? He was doing so good.</p><p>Does he have to disassociate to get things done? Does he have to distance from who he really is to be capable of ending this?</p><p>“Look at me,” Tony says. He gently turns Peter around. “You’ve got this. We’ve got this. It’s almost over, okay? Okay? We’re gonna go get him. We’re gonna end this right now. Can I help you? Will you let me help you? We save each other, huh? I save you, you save me back? Lemme put that suit on and help you. Lemme back you up.”</p><p>Peter swallows hard, swaying, wasting time, hating himself. No more hurt, no more people he loves hurt, but he needs help now and that’s it. He needs to keep people safe, that’s his whole fucking deal and everything that’s been swimming in his head since Tony got taken, and he thinks of Ben.</p><p>Thinks of how he failed Ben.</p><p><em>But families stand by each other, Pete</em> Ben says, from a glassy memory. <em>We back each other up. No shame in that. Support from your friends. Support from your family. Stronger together, I say. </em></p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, reaching up and gripping Tony’s wrist, where his hand rests on Peter’s shoulder.</p><p>“Okay,” Tony repeats. “I’ve got you. We’ve got this.”</p><p>Karen gives him options, ways out, and they wait a couple more minutes before Peter moves them out into the hallway. Tony isn’t well enough to be crawling around in the vents and Peter knows that, so the danger becomes more present as they slip into the shadows and behind open doors and just out of sight from people working here.</p><p>But the mood is becoming more urgent. People are running around, sharing the stories on their phones, talking about the situation. Everyone is speculating but no one seems to have seen Norman, and Peter’s heart aches as they move along in the back hallways, worrying they’ve already missed him. That they’ve already lost him. That they’ve already missed their chance. </p><p>He keeps going, Tony behind him, clearly eager to be in front of him and protecting him, the <em>lunatic</em>, and Peter keeps his eyes on the room where Tony was on the map, to make sure nobody goes in there and discovers him missing. </p><p>They take a stairwell that almost seems abandoned.</p><p>It does seem too easy.</p><p>It’s <em>too easy—</em></p><p>But where’s Norman, where the hell is he—</p><p>They make it up to the roof without being seen, and it’s still light out but the sun is casting a glare as it prepares to set. As soon as the suit comes within range of Tony, it flies up to him and envelops him, closing around him completely.</p><p>“Alright,” Tony says, looking at his hands like he’s shocked at being inside a suit again, just like Peter was. “Let’s go find—”</p><p>It isn’t a bullet that hits Peter.</p><p>But it hurts like one.</p><p>He drops to his knee in pain, and reaches out and plucks out the dart from his thigh, tossing it away. </p><p>“Shit,” a voice says.</p><p>
  <em>GARGAN—</em>
</p><p>“Wrong fucking shot, that’s not gonna do anything,” Gargan says. Peter scurries to his feet and shoots a web over his shoulder in that direction, but before he knows it something big and awful is rushing at him and knocking him right off his feet. It moves like an earthquake and it’s a he and his uniform glints in the dying sun—it’s the same asshole that was there after the car wreck—</p><p>“Peter!” Tony yells, and Peter hears a repulsor blast go off, hitting this dickhead in the stomach. He drops, not much but it’s enough for Peter to kick him in the head and flip away, but Gargan is already rushing at Tony, trying to attack the man in the goddamn iron suit, but Peter’s worried anyway and his leg feels like it’s swelling a bit and what the hell did he shoot him with and <em>what the hell did he mean to shoot him with—</em></p><p>The big guy looks like he’s in a Rhino costume and he grabs Peter when he stands back up, tossing him like a ragdoll, and Peter cascades through the air in shock before he regains his wits and shoots a web, latching onto what looks like a radio antenna on the roof and swinging around it. He’s able to tackle Gargan off Tony on his way back around, and they roll nearly off the edge.</p><p>“Oh, good,” Gargan says, when they stop rolling, with him on top of Peter. “This time I’ll be able to—”</p><p>“Yeah, not in the mood,” Peter says, immediately shooting him in the face with a web bomb. It hits so hard it knocks him back, and it sticks over his mouth. He staggers away, trying to rip it off, and Peter rushes at Rhino guy just as he’s trying to pick Tony up, too, climbing onto his back and wrapping his wrists up in webbing. </p><p>“Oh, no you don’t,” Peter says, as the Rhino guy growls at him, and then Peter leaps off and latches onto the antenna again, trying to attach him to it. He starts stomping towards Tony, and Tony shoots repulsor blasts, and then—</p><p>The roof explodes beneath them.</p><p>The blast is so big and massive and Peter is thrown backwards, the web he’s hanging onto stretching far and thin, and before he knows it Tony is grabbing him so he doesn’t get tossed away completely. Rhino and Gargan both drop into the new hole, and something big flies out of it, something, something—<em>someone—</em></p><p>“Well, if you want something done, you do it yourself, don’t you?” a voice says. It’s twisted and manic and a little familiar, and there is so much smoke and so many sparks, flames, and Tony flies up higher to get them above it all, holding Peter around the waist like a child.</p><p>The thing rises, and follows them.</p><p>“That’s Norman,” Tony says. “Jesus Christ, that’s—that’s fucking Norman.”</p><p>Peter is about to question it when Karen tells him the same thing.</p><p>He’s riding what looks like a hovering green chariot, and he’s wearing a mask to match and what looks like armor. He’s got a hood on and the mask, on closer inspection, is a drawn out, warped version of a face. A cape billows out behind him.</p><p>Karen starts showing Peter different things. Versions of what they’re seeing from the ground, from helicopters that he’s just now hearing in the distance. They’re paired along with all the new news about what Norman did, about the man he killed and what he used to take Peter down and everyone is wondering <em>where’s Beck? Is he really still out there? Is he really alive?</em></p><p>All of it is so damning but where’s Beck, where’s Beck—</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Norman says, in that same, nightmarish tone. “Doesn’t matter what they know. Doesn’t matter. I can disappear. I can change who I am. What I am. I just need you, Peter. I just need you.”</p><p>“Yeah, fat fucking chance—” Tony starts, but then Norman throws something at them, something else that explodes in a fucking fireball, and Tony twists around in the air trying to shield Peter from the flames, and he can feel things shooting past him from below, what must be Rhino and Gargan trying to get back into the fray despite the fact that their fucking boss just tried to blow them into smithereens—</p><p>And the world seems to shift—</p><p>And a few things happen at one time—</p><p>And Peter’s seen all kinds of movies where the action slows down when lots of things are happening but he doesn’t think his brain is pulling up a reference, he feels like his brain is finally misfiring after all of this, finally threatening to shut down for good—</p><p>And he sees Sam swoop up from inside the now smoldering building, grabbing onto Gargan’s ankle and yanking him down into the carnage—</p><p>And there’s a shock of lightning in the sky, the tremor of thunder—</p><p>And just as Tony is raising his free hand in the ash of the explosion, trying to move and aim where Norman was before, something grabs Peter and yanks him right out of Tony’s grasp and tosses him back down again—</p><p>Time starts moving normally again, and he’s rocketing through the air on the ground of Norman’s little chariot thing, and Norman himself is looming over him. Peter makes the slightest move but Norman steps down onto his neck, pinning him there.</p><p>“I just need you and I can be whatever I want,” Norman says, and he laughs, high pitched. “It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it was always a shoddy plan, anyways. We tried. We try and try again! Mistakes make the man! It doesn’t matter! Me and you, Peter, me and you. I have you now.”</p><p>He sounds like he’s gone full, out and out crazy and thunder rumbles again, lightning skittering across the orange sky in an angry rush. </p><p>“You’re completely outing yourself now, man!” Peter yells, gritting his teeth and trying not to focus on how much he hurts. His first inclination is always to stop things before they can escalate. But they’ve already escalated. They’re way past escalated. </p><p>But he still tries. “With the proof we had and now this—people are gonna know it’s you! Costume or not—whatever you’re doing here—there are ways to figure it out even if they don’t see your face. Everyone’s gonna know, everyone’s gonna see what you’re doing!”</p><p>Norman laughs again, and looks down at him. “You don’t know who I am, boy. You don’t know what I’m capable of. I wanted to do this behind closed doors but you made that impossible, didn’t you? Couldn’t stay down, you and your iron dog. Well, it’ll be worse for you for my trouble. Just you see. Just you wait.”</p><p>Norman turns around and throws another one of his fireball things, and Peter doesn’t even know how the hell he’s doing that, but Tony is fast behind. Peter can hear him, and he can’t let him get hurt, no matter what Norman does to him—</p><p>Peter grabs Norman’s ankle, pushes off the inside of the chariot, and knocks them both off into open air.</p><p>Norman yells as they fall and Peter keeps a hold of him, quickly shooting two webs—one, at the chariot, slowing it’s forward motion to a complete halt, and another at the nearest building, what looks like a set of apartments, faces in windows and lights on everywhere. Tony is getting closer and closer, hands out and ready to shoot at a moment’s notice, when Peter gets clear. Peter lets go of the web holding onto the chariot when he sees it’s completely still, and he tosses Norman up onto the roof of the apartment building—</p><p>But Norman shoots something at Tony before he lands, not a firebomb but something else, and Tony’s suit goes dark and plummets to the ground. </p><p>“No!” Peter yells, and his heart is in his ears and he shoots web after web after web at him, at the ground below him so the fall won’t be too hard, and he lands without crash, thank God, and Norman just disabled the suit he just disabled the suit that’s all he did—</p><p>—and there are news crews arriving down there, and gathering crowds, and some of them approach Tony as the suit opens back up in emergency mode—</p><p>And Peter swings up onto the building in anger, and as soon as his feet touch down Norman throws one of the fireballs at him. Peter dodges it, mostly, rushing at him through the flames, and Norman doesn’t stand there and wait. The mask is sneering at Peter, Norman’s eyes flaring through the slits as he rushes him too—</p><p>And they meet in the middle, in landed punches and side-swipes and more explosions, in webs flying everywhere because Peter keeps missing, too many webs, too many webs, he’s wasting too many webs, and there’s all kinds of noise that blends together in Peter’s head, voices everywhere, people trying to put this together, people watching the footage in their homes and on the street, the thunder and yelling and the sound of his own pain, his own fears, and Tony is down, he’s down, Peter should have gone after him, he keeps leaving him, why does he keep leaving him—</p><p>Norman knocks him in the head and laughs when Peter kicks him backwards, latching onto a nearby building and swinging around to get behind him. “That’s right, keep tiring yourself out,” Norman says. “You’ll be easier to work on later—”</p><p>“You’re not taking me anywhere,” Peter says, and he wonders what Norman has up his sleeve in order to get the upper hand, why he isn’t using it yet—</p><p>And they start fighting again, inches from the edge of the roof, and Peter isn’t always the best at hand to hand but he calls back to his sparring matches with Tony, with Rhodey while Tony was asleep. He’s strong and he’s stronger than Norman but the suit he’s wearing is like a metal goddamn shell, and it feels like it’s bruising Peter’s knuckles every time he lays hands on it. He’s able to dodge Peter’s webs better than Gargan and the Rhino guy, and are Sam and Thor still busy with them? Are they hurt?</p><p>Norman decks him across the face and Peter rolls out of the way, sweeps his legs out from under him, making him fall too. There’s so much smoke from all the fireballs he’s throwing that Peter can barely see, and he can’t tell if Karen is able to filter it all out so he doesn’t breathe it in. </p><p>Then—</p><p>And then—</p><p>A voice calls out like it’s plucked directly from Peter’s nightmares, and it echoes everywhere like there are fifty of him, one hundred, some far away sounding and almost quiet, others loud and booming. It sounds like it’s screaming through a speaker. Broadcasting. Like he’s in everyone’s hands. Like Peter is in his hands.</p><p>He’s speaking.</p><p>His voice. Beck’s voice. </p><p>
  <em>YOU LISTENING, PETER PARKER?</em>
</p><p>His laughter. He’s laughing. He’s everywhere and he’s laughing, and Peter sways and where is he where is he didn’t Steve and Nat have him didn’t they didn’t they—</p><p>Norman tackles him through a cloud of smoke, and they go right off the edge of the building. Peter grits his teeth and shoots a web—</p><p>—but there’s no web. There’s no web.</p><p>He used all his <em>goddamn webs—</em></p><p>Karen flashes no parachute either, never got installed—</p><p>Norman is still hitting him as they plummet down, screaming like a banshee, and Peter tries again and again but no webs, no webs—</p><p>—and Norman lets off one more firebomb that’s so close it feels like it singes the suit, and people scream as they come crashing down.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. we made it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those of you that stuck with me until the very end, through thick and thin, thank you. I appreciate it beyond what I can say. Will be responding soon, now that I've got more time on my hands. </p><p>Please enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony hears a ringing in his ears. </p><p>He’s been bounced around more in the last week than he has in his whole godforsaken life, and when the suit opens, spraying him and trying to put out a nonexistent fire, Tony barely knows where the fuck he is. There are tons of unfamiliar faces around him and the sky is full of lightning and a blurry, setting sun. The suit opens up finger by finger and the first thing Tony does when his hands are free is cover his face, because the headache isn’t new—no, it feels like it’s been growing there for one hundred years and has finally exploded into tendrils and nails and stabbing knives and every bad thing he’s ever encountered in the entire universe and some he hasn’t.</p><p>He can see through his fingers that more people are congregating around him and reaching for him and their mouths are forming words but all he hears are bubbles underwater, and he’s gotta get up now for <em>fuck’s</em> sake, because Peter was still fighting with that fucking lunatic last he knew. Last he knew, when he was being blasted out of the fucking sky with something that disabled his suit as soon as it latched on, making him fall like a lead balloon.</p><p>He sits up—</p><p>Waves—</p><p>“Fuck.”</p><p>Like being drunk in a swimming pool and as soon as you get up it hits you and you’re that much more drunk, legs broken debilitating drunk, but he’s gotta move. </p><p>“Alright, alright,” he says, his own voice barely audible amongst the high pitched screech and all the half-garbled talking these people are doing as he waves them away. He glances up at the building and he sees the fucking fireballs and shit and <em>God,</em> where the hell are the others? Why the fuck did they let Peter do this on his own?</p><p>Some people are taking out their phones and half paying attention to him, some are running in the other direction, and he glances over his shoulder at the suit. </p><p>It’s completely dead.</p><p>“Shit,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t even have a proper goddamn com so he can talk to Friday and get her to send another suit, and everyone is rushing around now and Tony stumbles to his feet, stepping out of the suit and nearly falling back down to the ground.</p><p>Someone grabs onto him. He sees the flash of a phone screen but he can’t see anything on it. His hearing is still sloshing and the guy says something to him but Tony can’t make out the words.</p><p>Doesn’t matter.</p><p>“Where’s Spider-Man?” Tony asks, unsure if he’s yelling or talking over him. “Where the hell did he go?”</p><p>The guy says something else, but Tony only hears a pulse, only hears high pitched and out of tune and the pounding of his skull, and he tries to concentrate because the question and its answer are important. He leans in closer, wincing, and the guy seems to see him struggling. He points up at the roof.</p><p>Tony can see the halos that the fireballs leave behind, and a lot of smoke. More lightning strikes all around him and it feels like the ground rumbles underneath his feet—he abandons the suit and starts stalking through the crowd, and everybody is acting wild. Looking at their phones, running, and there are cars stopped in the street, their drivers and passengers fixated on the rooftop. The lights of distant cop cars cascade over the crowd, but Tony doesn’t think about them, doesn’t think about them seeing him. He glances over his shoulder as he moves and he sees streams of webs, more firebombs, maybe the edge of Norman’s cloak, he can’t be sure. </p><p>What the fuck is he gonna do? He’s useless like this, was barely of use in the suit, and he’d just be a distraction for Peter. His hearing is coming back, slowly but surely, but everyone is talking all at once and too loud it’s getting too loud it’s getting way too fucking loud—</p><p>What’s he gonna do? How the hell is he gonna help? Where is everyone, where the hell is everyone? This storm must be Thor, Tony’s seen him pissed before and this is exactly what happens, and he weaves up onto the sidewalk and around the building, looking for a fire escape. A way up. </p><p>The cop lights get closer, and it looks like there are more of them. Too many. The shop across the street has a bunch of electronics in its window, and Tony is about to look away when the shot on all the TVs changes. It was showing some helicopter view of the street, the backed up traffic, but now it’s different, now it’s—a reporter, in what looks like Times Square—</p><p>Then Steve and Natasha are there, getting out of a car that’s stopped on the street, and they’re pulling someone else out with them—</p><p>Natasha is saying something, Tony can’t hear, it’s still—everyone is talking at once, freaking out about both of them being alive, and yeah, that’s new to them, that’s new to them, isn't it? His hearing is still coming back, still isn’t completely right, but the shock is reverberating through the crowd and directly into his skull—</p><p>But then it’s as if everyone stops, as if they’re suddenly all in tune, and he hears a distant explosion as soon as he sees Beck’s face on the screen—and everyone is watching, on the TVs, on their phones, he sees screens in windows and they all change to this—</p><p>He pounds on his ears to try and get them back to one hundred percent, because Natasha is speaking again, saying something to the reporter, and Steve is holding Beck by the arm—and Tony doesn’t know if this was the right way to do it, to go about it and reveal him to the world, but it must be, because everyone knows, everyone sees, they see him right there, alive, alive, he’s alive—</p><p>Tony hears what he says because it echoes like a mirror shattering in a silent museum.</p><p><em>YOU LISTENING, PETER PARKER?</em> Beck yells, from every TV in the shop, every TV in the vicinity, every phone and speaker, and each word and the subsequent laughter sinks into the core of Tony’s chest and nearly knocks him to the ground. It feels like a threat somehow, and Steve doesn’t let him say anything else before he’s tugging him away, back into the car. </p><p>Tony takes a couple more steps around the corner, glancing up at the roof, and he hears Natasha say the word <em>PETER</em> before there’s a pinched, crowd-wide gasp, crowd-wide shriek, and then he sees—</p><p>Peter and Norman falling. </p><p>Peter trying to shoot a web and coming up empty.</p><p>He doesn’t have any more webs.</p><p>Norman is hitting him and hitting him and screaming like a lunatic and Tony flares up in anger, starts running, because they’re falling, because they’re gonna hit, and maybe he can break his fall, maybe he can, somehow, somehow, if he’s fast enough—</p><p>Another fire bomb and this one is closer to the retreating crowd, everyone running away when Tony is running toward—</p><p>And there’s smoke everywhere and the sound of Peter’s body hitting the pavement will stay with him for fucking ever—</p><p>And all the sound floods in then. Like his ears finally popping after a difficult flight. The sirens. Natasha talking in waves from being on so many screens surrounding him. Everyone screaming and commenting and running away in hordes. Tony coughs and holds his hands up against the smoke and the flickers of flame twisting up like dying fireworks, and he sees them both—</p><p>He sees them both lying there—</p><p>Separated, by a couple of feet—</p><p>Neither one of them moving—</p><p>But he moves, his legs crying out in pain as he pushes them past the threshold of what they can take right now but he moves, and he knocks into someone and he knocks into someone else but his eyes are fixed on Peter, Peter who still isn’t moving, Peter who’s lying face down in the street, inches from a parked car that’s on fire from the goddamn fireball, and someone’s rushing at it with an extinguisher, more and more people screaming—</p><p>Tony skids to his knees when he’s close enough and gently, gently as he can, takes Peter’s mask off.</p><p>“Peter,” he whispers, too soft in all the loud, and there’s a crowd gathering again and the cop cars are screeching onto their street, but Tony doesn’t look. Not at anything but Peter. He cups his cheek and brushes his hair back, his hands shaking. He finds his pulse point in his neck.</p><p>Thready and weak. But there. </p><p>He’s afraid to move him and he doesn’t feel capable of doing it right, and the pounding in his head is becoming unmanageable. </p><p>He can feel the sand underneath his feet. </p><p>Like that place is trying to tug him back. </p><p>The one inside his head, the one that held him hostage for so long. </p><p>He refocuses on Peter. Out of the corner of his eye he sees people noticing Norman, and they quickly start surrounding him, one bigger man kneeling down and holding his arms behind his back. </p><p>“Pete,” Tony says, leaning over closer to him, brushing his hair back again and squeezing his shoulder. He’s met with blotches of darkness and no, he better not fucking pass out right now, not right now. “Peter, wake up. Wake up, we’ve gotta—you’re alright, but we’ve gotta get out of here. You got him. You got him, you did it.”</p><p>Peter doesn’t move, and that just makes Tony dizzier. He almost longs for the high pitched tone and droning silence because everything is too loud now, the TVs and Natasha explaining all the information and showing their footage of finding Beck. Beck himself attempting to yell out from the car, not even bothering to try and hide the truth anymore. </p><p>Just like Norman. </p><p>Sam lands beside them just as the cops start to rush towards them, in a group of about nine or ten, all dressed in riot gear. The sight of them makes Tony feel sick and they were like that when they first took Peter, he saw the goddamn footage, and he practically throws himself on top of him to keep them away. </p><p>The effort nearly takes his breath away but no, he’s not gonna drop, he’s gonna protect Peter—</p><p>But he’s a criminal too. Tony himself is a criminal too, isn’t he? Is he still? How the fuck does this work with the law, with all this information? He should have thought about it but he was so focused on clearing Peter’s name that he didn’t take in the specifics on how that would actually work, in a country that’s so focused on upholding its courts and their fuckin rulings, no matter how false. Are these cops dirty too? Did Norman dispatch them to take care of shit if he went down? And is he <em>down</em> down? Tony knows Peter isn’t, because he’s enhanced and he’s strong, but he’s got no fucking idea what’s going on with Norman.</p><p>“No, no,” he says, shielding Peter. “No. No.”</p><p>Sam spreads his wings, and Tony is sure there’s gonna be a shootout, right here in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen. </p><p>But more people, civilians, stand alongside Sam, stand in front of Tony and Peter on the ground. They gather in a large group, bigger and bigger, standing between them and the cops. </p><p>Lightning keeps striking and it’s darker now, but the stars are out.</p><p>Tony can barely see, but the cops don’t try to push through. He does see them moving around the crowd that’s handling Norman, and two of them bend down next to him and start to put him in handcuffs. </p><p>“We just need to get them somewhere safe,” an unfamiliar voice says.</p><p>“Tony?”</p><p>Peter’s voice. Tony’s hearing shifts again and cuts everything else out as he turns around, and Peter is groaning and trying to turn over, the side of his face that Tony couldn’t see covered in grit and blood. </p><p>Tony quickly gets his hands under Peter’s arms and helps him move, and Peter winces and sways and spits out a fucking tooth.</p><p>“I’ve got you,” Tony says, tugging him into him, and Peter rests his forehead against Tony’s chest. “I’ve got you.”</p><p>“Is Beck here?” Peter gasps, not looking up. “I heard—I heard him, did he—escape, get away from Steve and Nat—”</p><p>“On TV,” Tony says. “He was on TV. Everyone was watching the same thing at the same time and it—was fucking loud. That was what you heard. He’s not here. Not here.”</p><p>He’s worrying about the cops he’s worried about the goddamn cops but then <em>Thor</em> touches down on the sidewalk a few feet away, startling just about everybody and seemingly shaking the building and the cars all around them. He pushes close to Sam and starts talking to the cops too, his hands cutting through the air and sparking with electricity. </p><p>Peter groans, and he’s clutching at his arm. Now that he’s turned over Tony can see all the burns in his suit, but thankfully, they don’t look like they made it down to his skin. Tony holds him gently and wishes he had a goddamn suit, so he could grab him up and fly away because even though all the information is out there now, even though the world knows and these guys must know, too—he still doesn’t trust them. </p><p>“Did they take him? Norman?” Peter asks. He must be hearing the sirens, and his senses are always out of wack and they’ve been worse lately, and Tony can tell by the look on his face that what he’s experiencing right now isn’t pleasant. </p><p>Tony grips the back of Peter’s neck and cranes to look around Thor.</p><p>The cops are grabbing Norman up, some of the people helping them. He still isn’t moving.</p><p>“Yes,” Tony says, watching as Thor stomps off after them, surely with the same concerns that Tony has right now about the cops and their goddamn allegiances. His heart is faltering, that same triple-beat-slow-slow that he’s used to (still not used to), and Peter shifts just a little bit and cries out, clutching his arm even closer. </p><p>“Kid?” Tony asks, looking down at him, and when <em>he</em> moves too fast the whole world tilts on its fucking axis like an overspun top, and when will there be a moment when they’re not both shattered? When they’re not both careening off a fucking cliff?</p><p>“Think my arm is broken,” Peter says.</p><p>“Shit, okay, okay, you’re gonna be okay—”</p><p>Some of the cops start moving towards them, and Sam doesn’t turn around yet, and Peter makes a jolting movement like he thinks they need to run. Tony doesn’t disagree, and it really hits him how vulnerable they both are, sitting here. Peter lets go of his injured arm and looks like he’s about ready to shoot a web, like he’s forgotten the lack of webs was the reason why he crashed to begin with, and Tony moves and throws an arm out in front of him like that’s gonna do anything—</p><p>Sam kneels down in front of them before any cops can get to them, his wings still extended like a shield. “They’re not arresting you, not right now—”</p><p>“Not right now?” Tony snaps, his own defensiveness like fire in his veins. It makes him dizzy too.</p><p>“I don’t know if they’re gonna try but we’re not gonna fucking let them,” Sam says. “They’ve got a regular SUV along with their fucking paddywagon that they’re taking Norman away in. That’s how we’re getting out.”</p><p>“Thor’s going with them?” Peter asks, and he sounds weak, clutching at his arm again. “In the—paddy—what?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Sam says. “Paddywagon. God. And I’m going with you. We’re gonna go to one of the facilities and see what the fuck we do from here. Everybody else is jumping into action, Pepper was contacted by a lawyer that they’d been fucking <em>blocking</em> from getting to us.”</p><p>“What?” Tony nearly yells.</p><p>“Long story, she just called me and told me about him, she’s on her way back. Clint and Strange rescued Rhodey—Jesus, okay, you guys look fucking awful, let’s get you off the street.” </p><p>He reaches out and takes both of their arms, and Tony holds onto Peter as they get to their feet, stuffing the kid’s mask in his pocket. Peter winces and swallows hard and looks like he’s trying to stay steady, and there’s too much going on right now, too much uncertainty. </p><p>“Rescued—Christ, okay, we’re not getting arrested right now?” Tony asks, as Sam leads them forward.</p><p>“No,” Sam says, retracting the wings as he starts parting the crowd, through the cops, up onto the sidewalk. </p><p>Tony looks back. Peter’s blood is on the ground, and so is Norman’s. Some of the police rush up to start urging people back, so they can block off the street. </p><p>Tony hears an unfamiliar voice.</p><p>“<em>I’m sorry, Spider-Man.</em>”</p><p>Then another.</p><p>“<em>We’re so sorry, Mr. Parker, we shouldn’t have believed it.</em>”</p><p>Then more.</p><p>
  <em>So sorry Spider-Man so sorry Peter you didn’t deserve this Peter we shouldn’t have believed it before LEAVE HIM ALONE DON’T TAKE THEM so sorry Peter so sorry Spider-Man he deserved better he deserves better he always protected us PROTECT SPIDER-MAN PROTECT HIM DON’T ARREST HIM—</em>
</p><p>The police keep moving the crowd back but they’re all yelling now, everybody around them is yelling, some of them chanting <em>SPIDER-MAN! SPIDER-MAN!</em> And Tony looks down at Peter and sees the confusion in his gaze as he glances around, and some of them are taking pictures but most of them are just pleading with him as they’re pushed away, back and back and back.</p><p>“They’re not being arrested,” Sam says, and Tony can see the SUV they’re moving towards now, not even a marked police vehicle. “They’re not, they’re not, everyone was aware that this was a miscarriage of justice, but all the information is out now, the goddamn system’s coming down. Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Everybody should be sorry.”</p><p>Peter blows out a breath and he isn’t saying anything and Tony doesn’t know what he’s thinking, can only tell that he’s hurting and crashing and Tony is too, and it’s over but it’s not over, it’s not even close to over.</p><p>“You said you’re coming with us?” Tony asks Sam, holding onto Peter around his waist so he doesn’t fall over.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not leaving you,” Sam says, as they reach the SUV. There are cops behind it keeping the way clear and Sam opens the back door, sliding in before they do in a clear case of paranoia about being left behind. Tony helps Peter up first, the chanting and apologies and shouts almost deafening, and each step Tony takes feels like it might be the last one.</p><p>But he shuts the door. </p><p>“Okay, who’s driving—”</p><p>“Police Captain, Jefferson Davis, a cop we can actually trust,” a <em>familiar</em> voice says, not Peter or Sam. Tony’s eyes snap up and he sees Happy sitting in the passenger seat. </p><p>“Oh my God,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around Peter and melting back against the seat. “Thank God. Good to see you.”</p><p>“You too,” Happy says, grinning at him, but his face changes when he looks down at Peter.</p><p>“I haven’t believed this shit from the start,” the officer says, looking at Tony in the rearview mirror as he turns the car around, leaving the side street. “Knew that Osborn was shifty. But I guess he was way more than shifty.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter croaks, leaning on Tony’s shoulder. “Shifty, alright.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, guys,” Happy says. “We’re gonna—we’re gonna get through this.”</p><p>“Medical attention, Hap, make sure everybody’s on deck,” Sam says.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, they’re ready.”</p><p>Tony closes his eyes and rests his head on top of Peter’s. His world is narrowing, and he’s slipping through layers of something. Like peeling away at an orange. He moves into no-sound land again, and he squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “Pete.”</p><p>No-sound land, so no answer. Peter doesn’t move and that’s concerning but Tony falls into the pain, where that’s all he is. A concussion. Concussion upon concussion. Broken ribs. Probably a broken wrist. His arm aching to be back in the goddamn healing pod where it’s safe. And that world, that beach, that spot deep in his head howling for him to come home. Telling him he’s broken, he’s been broken. He’s pushed himself past the point of no return.</p><p>He is ashes. He’s cracks and seeping into a fine powder.</p><p>“Pete,” he says, to keep himself whole.</p><p>
  <em>You’re dying. It’s all catching up to you. You’re dying.</em>
</p><p>He squeezes Peter’s shoulder. <em>No, not again. Not this time. You’re fine, asshole.</em></p><p>They’re in danger. They’re still in danger. He doesn’t know what the hell is gonna happen, how he can keep Peter safe.</p><p>He hugs him closer.</p><p>And the darkness floods in anyway.</p><p>~</p><p>Tony feels the sand beneath his feet.</p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>The puzzle pieces are spread across the floor.</p><p>
  <em>No, not again.</em>
</p><p>He sees a flash of the dinner table. The group of them waiting there for him.</p><p>
  <em>no no NO—</em>
</p><p>He’s standing on the beach alone. The water is wild and roaring up like it means to consume him, and the moon sends ripples of light across it. Tony knows where he is, he knows he’s in his head again and he’s not meant to be here and <em>goddamnit</em> he better not be stuck again, but then—</p><p>Peter’s standing next to him. He’s tattered and torn, all bloody from what he’s gone through. There are tears in his eyes and he’s covered in dirt. He doesn’t seem disturbed by the rising waves or the gloomy sky. He actually looks strangely peaceful. </p><p>Maybe a little resigned.</p><p>“You can stay here,” Peter says, not looking at him. “If you want. If you need to. With them.”</p><p>Tony can feel it all trying to pull him back. He’s making this storm. He’s making the world wild because he wants so badly to get back. This Peter is his brain too, showing him what’s really out there. But the fake world is possessing him. Making him say these things.</p><p>Tony doesn’t need this. Not this. He’s not ready to let go. </p><p>Not for a long damn time.</p><p>“Sorry kid,” Tony says, winking at him. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”</p><p>~</p><p>Once again, he wakes up to beeping. </p><p>But he opens his eyes gently this time, not like the first time he woke up, and there aren’t a bunch of doctors rushing around all insane. </p><p>And he remembers everything.</p><p>His bad arm is in the healing pod again. He glances around, makes sure he’s not handcuffed to the bed, and before he can really take everything in, he sees Pepper sitting next to him. He’s frozen for a moment, staring at her like she’s not real, and she reaches out and takes his hand. </p><p>He wants to write soliloquies to her. He wants to launch himself at her and never let go. It feels like it’s been eons and eons and eons and he just wants to hold her, he just wants to be hers again, he just wants to relax and be normal and dear God why can’t he be normal?</p><p>Because there’s still a problem.</p><p>“Where’s Peter?” Tony asks, mouth dry. She doesn’t answer immediately so his panic rises like a snake, a poisonous one at that, and he shifts in the bed and starts breathing harder. “Jesus, where is he? How long has it been? Not months, right? Not months? Not like before? They don’t have him, right? Christ, they didn’t take—”</p><p>“Calm down, babe,” Pepper says, squeezing his hand between both of her own. “Calm down, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”</p><p>He wouldn’t be surprised. </p><p>“It’s only been hours. Three hours.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, trying to breathe, gripping her hand. “And Peter, where’s—where’s—”</p><p>“Look up,” Pepper says, rubbing her thumb back and forth across Tony’s own. “Straight ahead.”</p><p>Tony does. </p><p>There’s a window in this white room of whatever the hell facility he’s in now, another one that supposedly belongs to him, and through it he can see Peter. Peter, in his own hospital bed, next to May, and his girlfriend, and Ned. There’s also a man in dark glasses that Tony doesn’t recognize.</p><p>“That’s the lawyer,” Pepper says, reading his mind. “Matt Murdock. They’d literally been keeping him from us, Tony, he’s been putting together his own evidence of this case since he first heard about what happened. They’ve been attacking this poor man. He’s blind and they’re attacking him in the street to keep him away from us, arresting him and his friends.”</p><p>“Does Peter need a lawyer?” Tony asks, staring at him like he’s a mirage. There’s a dull ache in Tony’s head now, nothing like there was earlier when he thought—when he thought he might not—</p><p>He shakes his head.</p><p>“Seems like charges are going to be dropped, but we’ll still have to face a judge to get it done the ‘right’ way,” she says, air-quoting. “You too, for the prison break—but again, from what it’s looking like, from what Matt says things are—they should be pretty smooth, from here.”</p><p>“It should be one stop shop,” Tony says, cracking his jaw and still staring over at Peter through the window. “Should be <em>we’re very sorry, Mr. Parker, here are the keys to the goddamn city and a million dollars a week til you’re dead.</em>”</p><p>“Should be,” Pepper says, with a sigh. “There are still gonna be a couple—complications. But we’re on the right side of the law now. It’s finally—God, it’s finally ending. We don’t have to worry everyone we’re encountering is corrupt.”</p><p>Tony nods, wondering just what’s happening, wanting to know everything, wanting to be informed. But his exhaustion is overcoming him, his emotions too, watching Peter sit there, alive, with his family and friends, no longer running. He’s not handcuffed either, he’s not in captivity. He’s not a villain, as fake as that narrative was. He’s him. He’s Peter. </p><p>Is he finally safe?</p><p>“Tony—”</p><p>The door opens, and in a flash Morgan is rushing inside, nearly knocking over the side table with the pitcher of water on it. Her eyes go wide when she sees he’s awake, and she almost seems to move faster.</p><p>“Baby, baby, don’t jump on Daddy, okay—” Pepper starts.</p><p>“Hey crazypants,” Tony says, holding out his good arm, and that menacing grin spreads across her face as she rushes over to him, climbing up into the bed and pressing her face into his neck. </p><p>“Daddy, I missed you,” she says, holding on tight. </p><p>“I missed you too, sugar plum,” Tony says, rubbing her back, tears already springing to his eyes. “Geez, feels like forever, feels like months or years—”</p><p>“A million billion years,” she says, pulling back and looking at him. “But you did it! You did what you said you were gonna do. You saved him. You saved him and he’s safe now and that’s because of you.”</p><p>Tony scoffs, glancing into the other room again, where Peter is still talking to the lawyer. “Peter saved himself,” Tony says, thinking about how useless he is, how he actually made it worse by going and getting himself taken.</p><p>“That’s not what he said,” Morgan says. She grins at him and then she leans in and presses a delicate kiss to his cheek. </p><p>She’s off again after that, jumping down from the bed and rushing back out the door like she owns the place. Before Tony can even say anything, he sees her run into the room that Peter’s in. Tony can’t hear them, but everyone reacts happily, grinning, even the lawyer. Morgan hops up and snuggles against Peter’s side, and Peter wraps his free arm around her. The other one, Tony notices just now, is pinned against his side in a sling.</p><p>“Don’t be offended—” Pepper starts.</p><p>“I’m not,” Tony laughs. “I get it. I mean, I get it.”</p><p>“She’s also probably in there because she knows you’re watching,” Pepper says. “Everyone always used to tell her how excited you’d finally be to see the two of them together, and now…”</p><p>Tony watches, welling up like an old man. Peter brushes Morgan’s hair back, and whispers something down to her, something she nods at. Both of them smile softly.</p><p>Pepper gets up and sits on the edge of the bed. He scoots a little and she wraps her arms around him, kissing the top of his head. The IV in his hand pulls a little bit when he winds his arms around her, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He just closes his eyes.</p><p>~</p><p>Tony waits, a little while after that. Waits for the lawyer to leave, waits for the kids to go, waits for May to fall asleep. Morgan comes back in and he reads her a story, and then Pepper takes her to the living quarters to put her to bed. That’s when Tony groans out of his own, feeling like death incarnate, and shuffles into the hallway, dragging his IV along with him. </p><p>He moves into Peter’s room slowly, and as soon as he opens the door he’s met with May’s snoring. And then, Peter gasps. </p><p>“Oh my God,” he says, voice a little raspy. “You’re awake.”</p><p>“I’ve been awake,” Tony says, closing the door behind him. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Peter nearly yells, briefly looking at May. “I, you—you weren’t awake and it reminded me of before and you didn’t come in here—”</p><p>“You’ve been in meetings,” Tony says. “I didn’t wanna bother you.”</p><p>Peter scoffs, looks at him incredulously. “Meetings, I wanted—I was worried about you—”</p><p>“Sorry, bud,” Tony says, wheeling over and taking a seat next to him. “I just—I wanted to give you some time with your family, huh? And your new lawyer.”</p><p>Peter looks angry at the family comment, because Tony is purposefully leaving himself out, but Tony smiles at him and Peter immediately smiles back, like he can’t help it.</p><p>His arm is in the sling and he’s got a few pins in his leg, which is concerning and not something Pepper mentioned. He’s got a blown blood vessel in his eye, which is blackened, and he’s got a split lip and multiple lacerations on his face. It’s upsetting to look at and Tony reaches out and takes Peter’s hand without thinking about it.</p><p>“He’s been trying to get in contact with us since this started,” Peter says, squeezing Tony’s hand. “This guy’s just a lawyer and they were sending whole teams after him and bugging his place and cutting his phone lines, trying to beat him up—it was crazy. He was only just able to get through once we let the information go. I guess Norman’s goons were too distracted by him going full insane in public.”</p><p>“We’re sure about him?” Tony asks. “Like, really sure? Every detail? We know his mom’s name?”</p><p>Peter snorts. “We’re sure. Once Rhodey got back he was able to find all the encrypted messages he left. Well, the regular messages that those freaks encrypted.”</p><p>Tony nods. </p><p>“He thinks it should just be….one appearance,” Peter says, his voice breaking a little bit. “Just one, and he already scheduled it and it should just be—in and out, because they’ve essentially said they’re gonna drop the charges but there are things he’s gotta do—”</p><p>“Paperwork to file, writs to invoke, law bullshit,” Tony says. “Yeah, that’s what Pepper said. That Matt said.”</p><p>“He’s good,” Peter says, nodding. “I like him, I—I really wish I would have had him in the original trial. Maybe none of this would have happened. But I guess, that’s just—part of it. They made everything happen the way they wanted it to happen.”</p><p>“Well, we exposed them,” Tony says, getting angry when he thinks about it too hard. “We showed everybody what a grip Norman had on everything. It’s—a fucking nightmare, but we’re finally disabling his massive monster network before it got worse. I just wish it hadn’t…” He shakes his head. “I just wish it hadn’t affected you before we started dismantling it, goddamnit. I wish it had never affected you.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Peter says, squeezing his hand again. “If it can—if it affecting me helps other people, if it—being so public, because it was me, means—means that other people are gonna be safe, then it’s—worth it.”</p><p>Tony shakes his head. He feels like, once again, that he’s fundamentally failed at something, that he wasn’t made to be capable of all the things he wants, no—<em>needs</em> to do. He needs to protect them all and he never can. He literally wielded the goddamn infinity stones and nearly died and Peter was still put in terrible danger after the fact. And he doesn’t deserve it. God, how he doesn’t deserve it, but still—he’s always thinking of everyone else. </p><p>“What’s wrong with your leg?” Tony asks, almost curt in his worry.</p><p>“Gargan shot me with a paralyzing dart,” Peter says, looking down at the pins. “He knew it wouldn’t work on me as well as other things would, but it still, uh—well, it started working nicely when I passed out, I guess.” He looks up and meets Tony’s eyes, and gives a little half-hearted smile. “It’s fine. Helen said it would be fine. Tomorrow or something.” He clears his throat and Tony is feeling dizzier than normal. “What about you?” Peter asks, fast, like Tony’s got a particular look on his face. “I was—I was so afraid you’d fallen back into a coma, Tony, I—I was messed up too but I kept waking up but you—I kept asking and they told me you weren’t waking up—”</p><p>“I’m awake now,” Tony says. He stares for a second, remembering every bit of this, all the insanity and fear and how goddamn awful it was. What they did. He leans forward, dragging the IV with him. “I’m not gonna let this happen again, okay?” he says, trying to be better, be resolute. “There’s not gonna be any more bullshit. We’re gonna get through trials or whatever the hell, and then I’m gonna help you with your identity being out, with the prison reforms and goddamn—technology privacy issues, all of it. Every step of the way, okay? No matter what I’m doing, whether I’m in a suit or not, I’m gonna be helping you. I just want you to know that, Pete. And there’s no—<em>oh, Tony, I’m fine, you’re too busy and sad or whatever</em>—you and Morgan, you’re my priorities. Alright? We’ve been through too much shit for me to get complacent now.”</p><p>Peter makes a face, his brows furrowing.</p><p>“No arguing. We’re both in hospital gowns. We’ve been through a mutual trauma. We’re in hospital gowns, this is how this works.”</p><p>Peter snorts and looks down at their hands.</p><p>“Don’t be contrary to be contrary Parker,” Tony says. “Just gimme this.”</p><p>“Fine,” Peter says, with a big sigh. “But if you push yourself—”</p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>“Lies. Lies upon lies. That’s all you do.”</p><p>Tony smiles. He actually and for real out-and-out smiles, because after everything they’ve dealt with and had to handle and had to push through, Peter has lightness in his heart. He has hope, he has a light at the end of the tunnel, it isn’t all doom and gloom and running and hiding.</p><p>“I love you, kid,” Tony says, his voice breaking, but it doesn’t embarrass him, he doesn’t care. “I promise. I mean it. Never again, nothing like this. Sunshine and rainbows and cookies from now on.”</p><p>Peter laughs, sinking down a little lower against his pillows, but still holding onto Tony’s hand. “Cookies, huh? What kind?”</p><p>“Peanut butter,” Tony says. “I know you.”</p><p>“Newfound baker over here, I’m excited,” Peter says, smiling even wider. Tony just watches him, basking in everything he didn’t really have time to bask in before. Peter alive. In front of him. Breathing and smiling and finally not in danger, finally not in danger. Wrapping up one of the shittiest chapters in their lives but wrapping it the fuck up and leaving it behind and walking away from it.</p><p>“I love you too,” Peter says, nodding. “So much.”</p><p>Tony nods back, trying not to fall into complete and utter chaos in his newfound openly emotional state, and he pats Peter’s hand but doesn’t let go. “Alright,” he says. “Tell me every detail about this Murdock.”</p><p>~</p><p>Peter sits and talks to Tony for hours. They only wake May up one time, and she joins in for a little while closer to the bed before she falls asleep again back in her original spot. Peter can see Tony fading when it gets around to early morning hours, still trying to maintain conversation and continue reassurances and plan for their futures. Peter sinks even lower into his pillows and tries to fall asleep himself, so he’ll stop keeping Tony awake. </p><p>He can’t believe he has idle hours, now. He can’t believe it. Everything Matt said about the charges being dropped and actually being <em>compensated</em> for what happened—Peter can’t really believe it’s true. Part of him wants to lean into this, wants to fully embrace it and the idea that it’s coming to an end, but when Tony finally drifts off, slumping in the plushy chair still gripping his hand, the paranoia creeps back in. Not big and overwhelming like it has been, but small and crawling, like a bug he knows is in the room.</p><p>Peter smiles over at May, closing his eyes and trying to sleep.</p><p>His dreams are murky. Nightmares trying to grow. They’re falling off the roof but falling and falling and falling, no hitting the ground with that great splat that reverberates in Peter’s ears, no, just falling and falling and Norman laughing and screaming and hitting him with whatever nearly impenetrable material his suit was made out of.</p><p>They’re locked in stretching darkness. And in the distance, Peter sees the Raft.</p><p>“Look at these three sleeping beauties,” a voice says.</p><p>Peter doesn’t startle because it’s definitely Rhodey’s voice and not anybody that they don’t trust, but Tony must still be next to him, because he immediately takes hold of his hand again, out of what must be instinct. </p><p>“Jesus,” May says, and she’s scooting closer to him now, too, reaching up and gently rubbing his bad shoulder. </p><p>Peter is already really tired of the sling. He opens his eyes and sees Rhodey standing at the edge of the bed, along with Pepper and Morgan. Morgan is still asleep too, in Pepper’s arms, and Peter sees Tony smile at them, that loving, appreciative gaze that’s been thrown his way on more than one occasion. </p><p>“Slept in a chair all night, huh?” Pepper asks, raising her eyebrows.</p><p>“Sorry,” Tony says, squeezing Peter’s hand before he lets go again. “Didn’t mean to do that. Gonna have some new joint pain coming my way. Sorry, honey.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Pepper says, hoisting Morgan up a little higher. “It’s still early, but there’s—” She cuts herself off and looks at Rhodey. They share a particular look that makes Peter a little bit nervous. He gets a flash of Norman’s goons breaking down doors, trying to take him back again—but Pepper and Rhodey wouldn’t be so calm if that was the case. </p><p>“What?” Tony asks, clearly thinking along the same lines that Peter is. “There’s what?”</p><p>“We’re okay, right?” May asks, and she’s perching on the side of Peter’s bed now, cracking her neck. “Because you both know I can’t—”</p><p>“No, no,” Rhodey says. “It’s just, uh. Ross is here. And he wants to speak with Tony and Peter. Well, mostly Peter, but he knows you’re gonna be there too, Tony.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” May says, glancing at Peter. </p><p>Peter chews on his lower lip. Ross. Peter doesn’t know how he’s involved, really, or if he is at all. Did it all happen under his nose? Did he help Norman transform The Raft into Peter’s personal torture chamber? Or was he in the dark too?</p><p>“Pete,” Tony says, and he’s leaning into his space now, too, where May is rubbing Peter’s back. “You don’t have to talk to him. You don’t. We don’t know how he’s involved yet, right Rhodey?”</p><p>“We haven’t come up with anything,” Rhodey says. “Nothing for him, anyways, not yet. But as it stands, he’s still the asshole in charge of the prison where you were illegally locked up and targeted, so we’re all here to tell him to take a hike if that’s what you want. Bruce is downstairs, he’ll just pick him up and toss him out. Literally.” </p><p>Peter blows out a breath and before he can really think about it, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’ll talk to him.”</p><p>They all kind of stare at him like they’re not sure he actually just agreed to it, so he nods again and Rhodey and Pepper both nod too. She gives Tony a kiss and they both leave, and May somehow seems the most put-out by his decision. She helps him put a shirt on, while both she and Tony grimace at the remains of the burns, and then she stands at the end of the bed where Rhodey and Pepper were before.</p><p>“I think I’ll probably attack him if I stay in here,” she says, shaking her head. “Whether he was involved or not. Tony, you’ve got him? I’ll be outside but I just—”</p><p>“No, I’ve got him,” Tony says, pushing up the recliner on the lounge chair again. “I’ll call you back in here with shrill shrieking if we need an attack dog.”</p><p>May scoffs and she walks around, pressing a long kiss to Peter’s forehead. “I’ll go get you some good food, huh?” she says. “What do you want, breakfast or lunch? It’s still early but I’m pretty sure you’ve earned your choice.”</p><p>“Reuben sandwiches?” Peter asks, smiling up at her. </p><p>“Specific,” she says, running her hands through his hair and making a face. “I’ll take care of it. And as soon as this man leaves, we should get your hair back to normal.” She looks up at Tony. “You too.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of the blond,” Peter says, wincing a bit.</p><p>“We’ll fix it,” she says, cupping his cheek briefly, then walking out of the room.</p><p>Peter sighs. He still feels tired and he wipes at his eyes and tries to keep the nervousness at bay. Helen comes in to look at the two of them while they wait, chastising Tony for sleeping in a chair, and then she leaves again.</p><p>“You worried about talking to him?” Tony asks, once they’re alone. And then, before Peter can answer. “Don’t be. He’s not shit, Pete, and he was probably too stupid to even realize what was going on right in front of him. Norman probably took advantage of him and now he’s trying to pick up the pieces.”</p><p>Peter nods, and he hears Tony’s phone buzz where Pepper left it earlier on the side table. He looks at it fast.</p><p>“Are they coming?” Peter asks, his voice awkward and worried.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “They’re walking him up. Seriously, Pete, you’re fine? You wanna talk to him? Because I can stop this right now if you’re nervous.”</p><p>“I’m not nervous,” Peter says, shifting a little bit. He hates the sling, he hates it. He can feel himself healing, which is weird, but his leg is still half-dead. He’s just glad it didn’t fail him when he was fighting Norman. </p><p>He hasn’t asked about Norman yet. He’s thought about it, but he hasn’t asked.</p><p>Not about Beck, either.</p><p>Is that what’s wrong with him? Is he purposefully not asking?</p><p>“You sure?” Tony asks, raising his eyebrows at him. </p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, his voice wavering and making it seem like he’s lying. “Let’s just, uh. I don’t want it to go on and on, you know. I just wanna hear whatever he’s gotta say and tell him we need to do some reforms. Major, major reforms. Maybe, uh—see what’s going on with Norman, and Beck. Find out about everyone that participated in all this, how that’s—being handled. Because they’re—they’re taking out the people that are corrupt, right? We know that’s happening, we—we’re aware—”</p><p>“Yeah, no, they’ve already made arrests,” Tony says. “A bunch of them. But, uh, Beck and Norman, I don’t—I’m not sure.”</p><p>There’s a knock at the door, and Peter’s heart rattles. It was faster than he could have imagined, and Tony glances at him again and waits for his go-ahead. </p><p>Peter doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know why he agreed to this. There’s still something loose in his head and he doesn’t know where it’s carrying him, whether it’s meant to be that way or if he’s moving further into the fog, further in the wrong direction. He had a bout of happiness, earlier, but now he feels like he’s treading water again, the depths beneath him dark and swirling with unknowns.</p><p>He nods anyways.</p><p>Tony nods back and then looks at the door. “Come in,” he says. </p><p>The door opens and Peter sees Ross standing there, with Rhodey, whom he shares a glance before he walks inside. Peter can see May standing back a bit behind them in the hallway, her arms crossed over her chest. Ross walks inside, and Rhodey leans in, shooting a pointed look at Tony before he pulls the door closed.</p><p>“Don’t get comfortable,” Tony says, pointing at Ross. “We’re in the middle of something. You’re not the only one that needs our attention. We’re very busy, a lot to catch up on. I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up but we’ve had a couple distractions lately.”</p><p>Peter watches Ross shift his jaw in sheer annoyance, and he seems to be debating how to respond. Peter has never seen him in person. Not once. He’s small, and somehow imposing at the same time. Like there’s a lot to say behind his eyes, a lot he’d never say, a lot he’s planned to say that he has to, for the look of it, for diplomacy.</p><p>Peter doesn’t know if he can trust him. </p><p>“I wasn’t planning on staying,” Ross says, shifting and straightening up a bit. He looks at Tony, a gaze full of restrained venom, and then he looks at Peter. “I just wanted to come in person and...apologize, for all the—mistakes that were made.”</p><p>It feels like a sting but Tony speaks up before Peter can. He shuts the recliner and it snaps loudly, but he doesn’t stand up. He just sits there, suddenly fuming.</p><p>“No mistakes,” Tony says. “There weren’t any mistakes. You know that.”</p><p>“Wrong word,” Ross says, and Peter can tell he clearly isn’t used to being in this position. </p><p>“Uh yeah, you think so—”</p><p>“Stark—”</p><p>“It wasn’t a mistake,” Peter hears himself saying. “It was—orchestrated by Norman Osborn and all the people he’s bought off. I think you know that.”</p><p>Tony stops talking and Ross looks down at his feet. Peter tries to read him but he’s coming up empty, and his own heartbeat shudders against his bones. </p><p>“He was able to completely take hold of your facility,” Peter keeps on, shifting a little bit and twisting the sheet in his fist. “He moved things around and made it run how he needed it to run. And sir, if—if that kind of thing can happen without you noticing, then the entire system needs to be changed. I figure it already did need changing before all of this happened, but now it really does. That place turned into a torture chamber, just for me. Things—things need to change.”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware,” Ross says, looking at him again. “And I’d like to personally apologize—”</p><p>“I don’t need apologies,” Peter says, feeling a quick jolt of strength when he looks at Tony. “What I need are changes. That’s it. It’s gonna happen, and until it’s completed we’ll have to have people stationed at the Raft to make sure things aren’t running like they were.”</p><p>“We’re gonna stay on top of you to make sure this shit never happens again,” Tony says. “Complete rehaul, of everything. Everyone.”</p><p>“And you’re gonna support us completely,” Peter says, holding his head high, hardly thinking, hardly even realizing what the hell he’s doing. “In whatever we do. That’s the only way I’ll know that—you weren’t a part of this.” He swallows hard.</p><p>“And compensation,” Tony says. “It’s on your dime, every change we have to make, every new hire we have to bring in, every inch of time it takes to get the corrupt assholes that had the run of that place through the system. All you, pal.”</p><p>“Fine,” Ross says, curt, looking back and forth between them. “As—recompense—”</p><p>“No,” Peter says, digging his nails so hard into his palm that he feels like he’s drawing blood. “I don’t care about me—what happened happened, yeah, and it shouldn’t have happened, but it could have happened to anyone, it—can still happen to other people, in different ways, something similar might have happened more than one time before this and we could never know. It’s about corruption. Just...decency. It’s not about me, it’s not for me, it’s—it’s just the right thing to do.”</p><p>“Fine,” Ross says, and nothing else. </p><p>“But you could toss his Aunt a couple mil,” Tony says, raising his eyebrows. “For what you’ve put her through. Before the city forces you to, you know? Because his lawyer this time, his real lawyer, he’s really good and he’s gonna make sure there isn’t another miscarriage of justice. He’s gonna make sure it goes right this time, and the rats can’t scurry back into their holes without consequences.”</p><p>“I’ll see what I can do,” Ross says. “I—”</p><p>“Where are Beck and Norman?” Peter asks, and for the first time since Ross got here, Peter’s voice wavers.</p><p>“Beck is actually with your people,” Ross says, shifting again, but the way he’s holding himself makes it clear he’s no longer interested in being here, if he ever really was to begin with. “I guess they haven’t shared with the two of you yet, but he’s in one of your facilities headed up by—Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. In their spectacular return.”</p><p>Peter looks at Tony and Tony raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Norman Osborn is at the Raft,” Ross says. “In the hospital wing. But everyone that was working with him is locked up somewhere else now, so you don’t have to worry about that. All the guards, they’re—facing charges and trial at Rikers.”</p><p>“All the guards that you know of,” Peter says, his panic rising again. </p><p>“We’re being very thorough,” Ross says. “And so are your people. As you said, it isn’t going to happen again.”</p><p>He leaves after that, after a few more contentious minutes and another forced apology, and Peter feels like he’s slipping off into somewhere dark before Tony rests his hand on his arm.</p><p>“You did good with that,” Tony says. “He comes in here with his empty apologies and thinks it’s enough. He should have just called, not come here wasting our goddamn time with his stupid fucking face. But you made it worth it.”</p><p>Peter swallows hard, sinking lower into the bed again. There’s a little bit more feeling coming into his leg, but it’s still like a slab of meat that’s barely connected to the rest of his body. He looks at his free hand and turns it over, noticing the four bloody half-moons in his palm.</p><p>“Pete,” Tony says, looking too. “Dammit.”</p><p>“He’s a weird guy,” Peter says, as Tony lets go of him and struggles out of his chair, heading over to the bathroom, most likely in pursuit of a band-aid. “Like. His vibe is weird.”</p><p>“I never liked him,” Tony says, his IV stand scratching on the floor as he drags it behind him. “We’re gonna have to stay on top of him. With all this.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, with a sigh. The apologies don’t make him feel better, and it hits him then and there as he hears Tony pull open the medicine cabinet, that he might not feel better until everything is fixed.</p><p>And nothing is ever fixed all the way.</p><p>~</p><p>A week and a half later, Peter is sitting outside the courtroom, and finally, once again, he’s completely free. It only took two meetings with a judge, no jury, and a very passionate Matt Murdock for the charges to be entirely dropped and vacated, and Peter got more apologies that felt empty in the face of what he dealt with. </p><p>It makes him wonder if he’s making it bigger than it was. </p><p>“You’re not,” Matt says, making Peter realize he said as much out loud. “Trust me, I—I’m not positive if I’ve properly described to you what they did to keep me away. Throughout the initial trial, when they locked you up...I’m not sure if other lawyers were approaching you or Mrs. Stark, but they did everything in their power to keep me back.”</p><p>Peter sighs, gripping his own knee. They reset his broken arm, and it’s healing fast, but it’s still in the sling for now, just to be safe. He’s counting down the days until he’s out of it, until he’s got full range of motion again. </p><p>They’re in a room right outside the judge’s chambers, but he can hear the public clamoring in the hallway. “I’m sorry,” he says.</p><p>“Not the point,” Matt says, adjusting his glasses. “Point is, you’re not making it bigger than it was. Was isn’t even the right word—it <em>is</em> and continues to be one of the most massive miscarriages of justice I’ve ever seen. So many people were complicit, whether intentional or not, and people like the judge don’t want to admit they allowed this type of thing to happen. Him, Ross, guards that knew the guards that abused you and let you be abused—whether they were actively involved or standing on the sidelines unaware, they’re to blame. And nobody wants to be blamed for something like this, so they’re brushing it off. Norman Osborn had his fingers in so many pies and there are a lot of people who don’t want to be involved with the baking, after this.” He shakes his head and adjusts his cufflinks, leaning back against the wall. “Don’t let them change what you know, Peter.”</p><p>Peter blows out a breath. Matt has a very intelligent air about him, like he’s aware of just about everything going on all around him, and Peter is beyond grateful he’s taken an interest in him. Wanted to help. “I won’t,” Peter says, nodding. “You’re right. You’re right.”</p><p>“You’ve been through enough for them to try and bury it now,” Matt says. “And I won’t let them bury it. Foggy and Karen are good at keeping the word out. Karen’s been on the news for you more than one time.”</p><p>Peter blinks at him. He’s met Foggy once but not Karen yet, though he has talked to her on the phone. He wonders if she’s the same Karen he saw on the news in the safehouse, what feels like ages ago. Was that only a couple weeks ago? Really?</p><p>Matt sighs. “I wish Tony would have let me defend him too,” he says. “Not for the payday, obviously, but he’s the only one here that committed an actual crime. For a good reason, but still. It should be fine but I’d rather be in the room.”</p><p>“He was practicing his defense earlier,” Peter laughs, remembering all the hand motions. “He seemed pretty...on point.”</p><p>“I remember his performance at the senate hearing way back,” Matt says, smiling a bit. “I guess it’s true, he can handle himself.”</p><p>Peter isn’t exactly worried about it, not actively worried, because public opinion has shifted so drastically in their favor that people would probably run this place down if they put charges on either one of them. </p><p>“Listen,” Matt says. “I can’t see your expression but I can feel the energy you’re putting out, and you don’t need to doubt yourself. I know this situation seems impossible, like a huge mountain you have to traverse to get to the other side of it. With all of its trappings and bad weather. But it’s not. The people know they’ve been duped and they’re ashamed. Ashamed they fell for it, ashamed they turned on you. People love Spider-Man. They do.” He cracks his knuckles. “Other heroes do too, and not only the ones that you know personally.”</p><p>Peter’s breath catches and Matt faces him, raising his eyebrows. “You think so?” Peter asks, because it’s something he’s been grappling with. All of it. What he is, now. What he is to the rest of the world.</p><p>“I know so,” Matt says. “And I’m not gonna stop fighting for you, alright? They’re not gonna get away with this with empty words.”</p><p>“No, it’s—I’m just glad it’s over,” Peter says, shaking his head. </p><p>“It’s not over yet,” Matt says, which makes Peter wonder what the hell he’s gonna do. “But you <em>are</em> safe now.”</p><p>The side door opens and Tony walks through, brushing his shoulder off and rolling his eyes at them. Both Peter and Matt get to their feet, and Tony walks over and ruffles Peter’s hair. Which is, thankfully, back to it’s normal color, after a few hours with color stylists MJ and May.</p><p>“How did it go?” Matt asks. </p><p>“I never want to hear my own voice or anybody else’s voice ever again,” Tony says, clapping Peter on the shoulder. </p><p>“That well, huh?” Matt asks.</p><p>“But it’s all fine, right?” Peter asks, eyes narrowed. “Nothing...nothing went…”</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” Tony says, cutting him off quick and shaking his head at him. “But you’re right, that guy is just behaving like we’re fighting a parking ticket or some shit.”</p><p>“We’ll get past that,” Matt says, nodding. “We’ll make them all remember.”</p><p>“Can I shake your hand, Mr. Murdock?” Tony says, extending his own. Matt immediately takes it, and they shake, Tony looking at him in that particular way he does when he’s faced with someone he respects. “Thanks for taking care of my kid, for—going through all you went through to get to us—”</p><p>“Didn’t go through as much as you,” Matt says. “But don’t worry. I can handle myself.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt that,” Tony says, the two of them letting go.</p><p>“I’m gonna slip out ahead of you,” Matt says, squeezing Peter’s shoulder, too. “I’ll keep you involved on the counter suit and how we handle it. Uh, if you need me and can’t get a hold of me, just—call Foggy. I keep some strange hours.”</p><p>“We will,” Peter says, trying not to get choked up. “Thank you, thank you so—so much.”</p><p>“You don’t have to thank me,” Matt says, walking over to the door Tony came in through. “I’m pretty sure that everybody owes you in some form or another.” He smiles then, and heads out the door without another word.</p><p>Tony sighs. “I like that guy. I really enjoy that man.”</p><p>“Me too,” Peter says. “I don’t know why he cares so much.”</p><p>Tony scoffs and turns Peter towards him, with hands on both of his shoulders. “Peter,” he says. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but...people love you, kid.”</p><p>“They didn’t, though,” Peter says, before he knows he’s saying it. </p><p>“They still did,” Tony says, patting his cheek. “The stupid ones are just the loudest, like we said.”</p><p>Peter sighs, and they both look towards the main door, where they can see people moving back and forth underneath.</p><p>“Thor and Sam are out there,” Tony says. “Personal Avengers security. Happy and Rhodey are already waiting in the van outside. You good? Ready to get the hell out of here?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, his mouth dry. Leaving the court behind. No more court. Ever.</p><p>“Alright,” Tony says. “Just stick by me, and try not to knock anybody out if they get too close. We don’t wanna deal with another trial.”</p><p>Peter looks at him for a long-suffering moment and Tony grins, patting Peter’s shoulder. </p><p>“Too soon?” Tony asks. “No trial jokes?”</p><p>“Not ever,” Peter says, staring at him. “I never want to ever think of doing anything illegal ever again or be accused of doing anything illegal and nothing illegal ever.”</p><p>“Fine, fine,” Tony says, reaching out for the door knob. “Just me, then.”</p><p>Peter shakes his head and tries to steel himself for going out there, and nods at Tony to carry it forward before he can change his mind. </p><p>His relationship with the public is at war with itself in his head, and he doesn’t wanna resolve it right now. Well, he does want to resolve it, but he doesn’t know how.</p><p>Tony opens the door to the hallway and Peter sees Thor and Sam first, but then all these other groups of people converge on them, their feet clicking against the tile floor. Everyone is talking at the same time and Peter can’t make out anything they’re saying, but Tony holds onto him and Thor and Sam immediately throw their arms out, creating a solid wall around them as they head out of the courthouse.</p><p>“Alright, alright, step back—”</p><p>“This is unnecessary, civilians—”</p><p>“Don’t let them jar his arm, guys,” Tony says, holding Peter even tighter against him.</p><p>They move through the crowd in a strange little bubble, because nobody is trying to get at them, no one is trying to run them over or knock them down or grab at them—they’re all just talking. Almost like they were on the street that night, when everything happened, and Peter tries to pick out certain statements even though they’re all so loud (not yelling, not yelling, just so much at once)—</p><p>
  <em>PETER WE’RE SO SORRY—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I SHOULDN’T HAVE BELIEVED IT, KNOWING SPIDER-MAN—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>YOU SAVED MY SON, I NEVER FORGOT—</em>
</p><p>Some of them are holding flowers and cards, some of them are crying, and Peter sort of feels like the world is slipping and moving into slow motion because he can’t process all this. He can’t, the looks on their faces, the few words that are getting through—</p><p>His heart forgives them, immediately, the ones that condemned him when they heard the news. But his head says that they should have known, that they should have known who he was by what he’d done before, all along, what he’d shown him. What do they think he’s hiding? </p><p>What has he done to make them think he’s hiding something?</p><p>He closes his eyes as they walk through the door, and he hears apologies and declarations and Thor and Sam trying to stay calm, keeping them away, and then they’re outside and Peter opens his eyes again against the brightness of the sun, and there are more of them, more waiting out by the car, and they’ve got signs they’re holding up and the biggest one Peter sees before he climbs into the van says <em>WE WILL ALWAYS OWE SPIDER-MAN—</em></p><p>He gets into the back and Tony follows, and Thor and Sam climb into the middle before shutting the door back again. The sound cuts off and is muted almost immediately, but he can still feel the reverberations of their shouting and their words as Happy drives away. </p><p>“How we doing?” Rhodey asks, from the front seat. “Matt didn’t call, but I don’t think that guy ever does anything he doesn’t want to do.”</p><p>“We saw him leaving,” Sam says, glancing back at them and then at Rhodey. “He gave us a thumbs up, so.”</p><p>“I feel as if that man can see more than he lets on,” Thor says, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p>Peter snorts. “Mine went fine,” he says, though the word <em>fine</em> doesn’t exactly seem correct. “Uh. it’s over. They’re not gonna—Matt did something, writ of something, actual innocence something—but the judge, uh, was pretty much prepared to drop it all in the face of the evidence.”</p><p>Part of him still doesn’t trust it. But he doesn’t say that out loud.</p><p>“Mine was fine, I just yelled at him,” Tony says. </p><p>Happy laughs. “As you should.”</p><p>“Told him the goddamn Raft shouldn’t have been so easy to break into to begin with,” Tony says. “Was just a test. That they failed.”</p><p>Sam shakes his head and Thor laughs outright, booming and jubilant. </p><p>Then Rhodey clears his throat and shares a look with Happy. A very pointed look that doesn’t go under anybody’s radar, especially Tony’s, and he’s immediately shifting in his seat. </p><p>“What?” Tony asks, eyes narrowed. “What? What’s that look? What’s going on? Are you taking us somewhere weird? Is that why you trapped us in the farthest back seat?”</p><p>Rhodey scoffs but no one says anything, so he sighs, but when he looks back at them again, his eyes land on Peter. “Kid, uh. You’ve got an opportunity. That’s open right now that we figured we’d take today, if you wanted to, so you didn’t have to sit around and lament about it for days. Now’s the time, uh, now or never.”</p><p>Peter’s heart is in his throat within seconds, and he glances at Tony, but Tony looks as confused as he is. “Uh, what’s happening?” Peter asks, trying to move his bad arm in the sling without thinking, and he winces when it pinches. “Not something bad, right, just, uh, not—”</p><p>“No,” Rhodey says. “Not...bad. Just—an option—”</p><p>“Rhodey, stop waffling, you’re gonna give the kid a coronary,” Tony says, gripping the seat in front of them.</p><p>“Natasha and Steve want to know if you want to speak to Beck,” Rhodey says, with another sigh, and Peter feels like all the air is sucked out of the car at once. “They’re finally about to move him to the other maximum security place, they’re done with the—upgrades to properly hold him, since we don’t want him in the Raft right now with all this shit going on, but once he’s in the new place, it’ll be more difficult to get at him. They’re moving him tonight so if you wanna go, we’d go right now.”</p><p>Peter stares at a fixed point straight ahead, through the windshield, and they all look at him. Thor and Sam shifting in front of them, trying not to be too obvious about it but utterly failing. Happy’s eyes in the rear view as they pull up to a red light. Rhodey, waiting for an answer.</p><p>If Peter’s mind is already a war of complications, Beck is at the center of it. A manic conductor waving and screaming, eager to tear it all down. He still partially feels like two different people, one that Peter lost and one that tried to kill him. Peter knows, in his heart, that the one he lost was never real to begin with. But it feels like an unfinished book. A symphony missing its last few notes.</p><p>Peter cared about him. He can’t say he didn’t. It stings in the core of his chest and resonates deep into the future, in an unknown place where he’s finally able to look back on all this without the chords of sadness and failure. But that’s not now. And that might not be possible if he doesn’t talk to him one last time. Another meeting that he doesn’t know how to approach, so many things to say and yet none at all, and it could very well blast him into another depressive episode, another dark well he doesn’t know how to climb out of on his own.</p><p>Or, it could set him free for real. </p><p>He wishes he knew, but he can’t take the chance of not trying.</p><p>“Pete,” Tony says, and his hand is gentle on Peter’s shoulder. “We’re all here for whatever you decide. Rhodey, if we go, can you get, uh, May on her way there? With bodyguards, obviously.”</p><p>“We fit that role,” Thor says, holding his head high. “And Sam here is already—”</p><p>“Hush up, hammer man,” Sam says, knocking him in the arm.</p><p>Happy sighs angrily.</p><p>“Yeah, I can get her, if Peter wants to go,” Rhodey says. “And if Peter wants her there. But we gotta—”</p><p>“Yeah, I want to,” Peter says, unsure if that’s the right thing, unsure about any damn thing anymore. But if he’s got them with him, and May—Beck can’t hurt him. He can’t. He’s not anything anymore. Not what he made himself, not a false hero, not Peter’s pursuer, not the person Peter was accused of murdering. Just a man. Just a final conversation. “Yeah, I—yeah. May would be good.” He always feels safer with her near him.</p><p>“Alright,” Rhodey says, clapping Happy on the shoulder. “Let’s send for her, meet her there.”</p><p>“I’ll blast him to kingdom come if he so much as looks at you incorrectly, Peter,” Thor says, nodding at him, like that’s a completely normal thing to say.</p><p>“Me too,” Tony says, a moment later, more quietly, his hand at the back of Peter’s neck. “I know you don’t need me, kid, I know you can handle all of it and anything by yourself, but I’ll—I’ll be right behind you. I wasn’t last time, with this prick, but this time I’m with you.”</p><p>Peter tries to imagine how things would have gone had Tony been around for everything in Europe. He’s thought about it before, he even wondered about it while it was happening. But there’s no point in imagining, and he leans forward and rests his forehead on Tony’s shoulder, closing his eyes.</p><p>~</p><p>Peter doesn’t keep an eye out to see where they’re going, and he practically falls asleep on Tony’s shoulder in order to escape his own thoughts. But he retreats into his own head when they get there, a lot like he did when he was moving on the Oscorp lab to rescue Tony. He doesn’t do it on purpose this time, it isn’t an active choice, and it’s like he’s moving through thick darkness when they get out of the car, when they’re moving through the halls of this place he hasn’t been before, when they’re going down and down into the bowels of the building and he knows the others are talking to him but he only catches a stray word here and there, and he has to key back in or they won’t think he’s ready for this, or they’ll pull the plug—</p><p>“Peter,” May’s voice says, bringing him back to life. She’s in front of him, all of a sudden, alongside Tony, and he’s in a dark room that practically looks like a fucking dungeon. Steve and Natasha are there too, but the others are gone and suddenly, like a cold smack, it’s reminding him of solitary, suddenly it’s reminding him of being cuffed to that wall and left there and being unsure if they’d ever come and get him out again—</p><p>“Peter, are we okay?” Natasha asks, gently, at the same time that May brushes her hands through his hair and Tony touches his shoulder. Natasha looks back at Steve and Steve shifts anxiously, his brows furrowed.</p><p>Peter tries to right himself. He’s always acting like this in front of them, it’s embarrassing.</p><p>“Sorry,” he says, taking May’s hand and squeezing it. “Sorry, this place just—reminded me of the Raft for a second there.”</p><p>All of their faces fall, which loads up the guilt on his shoulders, and he shakes his head. </p><p>“This place is old and in need of repairs,” Steve says, stepping closer to him. “But it was the only place that was safe enough to keep him until this next place was ready. Once we’ve overhauled the Raft and made things more humane, he’ll go there. And it’ll be safe.”</p><p>“Honestly, baby, he doesn’t deserve anything nice,” May says, looking slightly sheepish, which isn’t a look he sees on her face a lot. “After what he did to you, I’d toss him in a pit and I’d never think about it again.”</p><p>Peter’s breath catches and he sighs, knowing he hasn’t shared the details of what happened with her because it would drive her insane in more ways than one, and he shakes his head and swallows whatever words are littering his throat.</p><p>“Should we rethink this?” Steve asks quietly, looking at Natasha, then at Tony. “Should we—”</p><p>“No,” Peter says, shaking his head again. “No, I don’t even need—just like, five minutes, then we’ll go. And you can move him to the next place.”</p><p>He hears them agree in watery echoes and they guide him out of that room, whatever the hell it was, and he follows and focuses on May’s hand around his elbow as they walk, Tony’s on his back, and Peter’s bad arm feels trapped and he wants to rip the sling off and throw it somewhere, and he’s thinking about broken Norman in the Raft and how dangerous that is, how there could easily still be plants they haven’t found out yet, he thinks about Beck moving from place to place, prison to prison, because he’s so goddamn unpredictable and they aren’t sure how to handle him. Peter hates himself for worrying about Beck here and worrying about Norman’s injuries, because he doesn’t want to care about these people who want him dead, who want him hurt, who want to tear him up and use him, but he does, he <em>does</em>, he has their best interests at heart whether he wants to or not, even though they’d kill him in a second—</p><p>and he’s boiling up on the inside—</p><p>and he’s here and he’s steps in the past too and he was only in the Raft for a few days but it’ll be with him forever—</p><p>and that makes him weak, and that makes him stupid—</p><p>and every decision he makes is a mistake because he’s pieces that don’t fit—</p><p>“He’s inside here,” Steve says, in front of Peter now and almost startling him. “Do you want us to go with you—”</p><p>“He’s in a straitjacket so he can’t do anything,” Natasha says. “And he can’t do that popping his shoulder out of its socket thing, we made sure.”</p><p>“I wanna go in alone,” Peter says, swallowing hard and looking past them, not making any eye contact. “I won’t be long.”</p><p>“Honey, are you sure?” May asks, holding his elbow a little tighter. “Because we can go in with you, right, Tony? It’s no problem—”</p><p>“One hundred percent, Pete,” Tony says, and Peter glances behind him and sees Thor and Sam walking down the hallway, stopping to stand behind May. </p><p>Peter knows there must be other people here. Dangerous people.</p><p>He’s starting to realize he doesn’t like prisons. But what the hell else would they do with these people? The irredeemable ones? The ones that commit heinous crimes and inflict suffering because they want to?</p><p>He doesn’t want to believe that people are irredeemable, but he’s not that naive.</p><p>His heart aches with it.</p><p>His brain is goddamn scrambled, and he pulls away from May a bit and doesn’t look at her or Tony, knowing they give him strength most times, but now they could make him waver. “I’m okay,” he says. “Just wanna—fast. In and out. I’ll bang on the door when I’m done.” He only briefly looks at Steve. Tries to keep his face a mask.</p><p>“Alright,” Steve says, and he looks at Tony. Peter can imagine Tony’s face. </p><p>But then Steve opens the door and lets Peter inside.</p><p>Beck is sitting there, in a wooden chair in the middle of the room, and a smile spreads across his face when he sees Peter. The door closes and Peter hovers over close to it, and he can hear Tony and May both talking, sounding like they’re giving orders. Their nervous energy finds him, makes its way to where he is and settles on his shoulders.</p><p>“Peter,” Beck says, scoffing, looking him over, shifting a bit in his straitjacket. “Wow. Wow, this I wasn’t expecting. I knew they were bringing me in here for some reason, but I never thought it’d be <em>you.</em>”</p><p>Peter stares at him. The whole time he knew him, Beck felt larger than life, when they were close and when they weren’t anymore. But now he just looks small. Like any other guy. </p><p>He smiles, and it’s unnerving. “What’d you do to your arm?” he asks, still smiling. “Hurt yourself? That sucks, kid, hope it heals up nice.”</p><p>“Why the hell did you do what you did?” Peter asks, stepping a bit closer, but not too close. “I liked you, you—you know I did, and you had no sympathy and you could have stopped, you could have—realized what you were doing was—”</p><p>“Wrong?” Beck asks, raising his eyebrows. He laughs and shakes his head, shifting again. Peter notices a strange flicker directly in front of him, and realizes that Beck is behind a forcefield. “Peter, sweet Peter, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. It was never really about you. It was about manipulating you. It was about the glasses, for me, it was about getting that and getting what Tony owed me and hurting him a lot in the process. That’s all.”</p><p>Peter looks down at his own feet, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead and the back of his neck.</p><p>“You’re a nice kid, you are, but I knew what I was doing from moment one. I didn’t let myself connect with you so there was no losing in this, for me. You were the easiest one to get to out of everyone Tony loves. I had made the deal with Norman. You were real easy to find out, real easy to manipulate, and it was—it wasn’t personal, kid. Well. Not personal to you.”</p><p>“Personal to hurt Tony,” Peter says, looking up again. He’s a tempest inside his bones. He hasn’t felt anger like this, and he doesn’t like it, but it storms and ripples inside him anyways. Not for himself. But that anyone could hate Tony to this extent. “That kind of personal.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Beck says, like it’s nothing, and he shrugs awkwardly in his straitjacket. “Tony destroyed my life, and I hate him, so I orchestrated this whole thing. Well, this part of it. Hurting you hurts him—Norman gave me a lot of money to pitch you in his direction, whether I succeeded in being the next big hero or not. It was all good. It all worked out.” He laughs. “Well. It did until it didn’t. I guess that’s how the cookie crumbles, huh?”</p><p>Peter stares at him. And stares and stares at the smarmy look on his face and the way he has the nerve to smile. He’s insane. He’s fucking out of his mind.</p><p>Beck suddenly looks incredulous and concerned. “Your arm, buddy, I mean, did you break it? I thought you couldn’t do that stuff—”</p><p>“I know what you think Tony did to you,” Peter says, tremors running through him. “When really you were working on a project that he spearheaded. That he commissioned. That he came up with. You were one of a group of seventeen and you knew that it was his intellectual property because you worked for his <em>company</em> and that’s how it <em>works</em>. And you turned a mental health project, a project intended for people to work through their difficult memories, into something weaponized. You flipped it and ranted to your coworkers about subjugation and keeping people in line and Tony found out. What the hell did you think was gonna happen after that, huh?”</p><p>Beck’s mask falters, a bit. But he’s still wearing that strange smile. “Now, Peter, of course that’s what Tony would tell you.”</p><p>“Because it’s true,” Peter says, taking an uncertain but determined step forward. “Because I trust him more than I’d ever trust you, ever. Because the only reason you were able to get in good with me is because I missed him. And you emulated him in every way you could have.”</p><p>Beck raises his eyebrows. “He’s an easy archetype.”</p><p>“He’s a million times the man you could ever be,” Peter says, wishing to God there weren't tears in his eyes. “And you’re a lunatic. And you really, really suck for what you did. What you did to me. You suck even more for not caring about it and you suck even more than that for not realizing what you are and why it’s so dangerous to everyone around you. You need help. You need help.”</p><p>“Are you gonna help me?” Beck asks, widening his eyes. “Little Peter Parker? The little spider? Gonna help me?”</p><p>“You were gonna let me get cut open,” Peter says, slowly, the words hardly sounding like they’re coming from him at all. “You let me get falsely accused of <em>your</em> death. You could have stopped it, but you let me get convicted and put away in a place that they rebuilt in order to test and torture me. You were just gonna stay hidden while Norman did whatever goddamn experiments he was gonna do, and I still don’t know what they are.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Beck says, deadpan. “That’s just about the gist of it.”</p><p>Peter stares. He’s liable to be blown over by a light breeze at this point, and every part of him hurts. “Yes,” he says, almost whispering. “I am gonna help you. You don’t deserve it. And I should hate you. And let you rot. But what the hell’s the point if I don’t try, right? What would it all be about? What would it all be for?”</p><p>Beck scoffs, and laughs at him, and Peter can’t take it, can’t take him or himself or anything about this, and he turns towards the door and bangs on it to be let out. </p><p>He knows he’ll never see him again.</p><p>The door opens quickly and May grabs for him like she thinks he’s being attacked.</p><p>“That’s so sweet, Peter!” Beck yells. “Bless your little heart, Peter!”</p><p>The door shuts on him. He’s still yelling, but Peter can’t make out the words anymore. Just a garbled mess.</p><p>Tony is close by now, too. “You okay?”</p><p>“Sweetheart, are you—”</p><p>“Are we good?” Steve asks. “Everything good?”</p><p>“We’re good,” Peter says, swallowing hard, meeting May’s eyes, then Tony’s. “Let’s get out of here, please. I wanna go home.”</p><p>He’s been home, since the fight with Norman. He’s been back at his apartment, he’s been back in his own bed, he’s been to the facility where he stayed waiting for Tony after he blipped back into a world on fire. But now, after talking to Beck...he doesn’t know how he feels. He feels out of his mind, unsteady, but it’s as if he might actually, finally be able to...really go home.</p><p>The others nod at him, exchange a couple words with each other, and then May and Tony situate themselves on either side of him and escort him down the hallway.</p><p>He can still hear Beck yelling, but it slowly goes quiet as Peter gets further and further away.</p><p>~</p><p>The nightmares don’t stop.</p><p>Tony and Peter stay on top of the changes at the Raft, including the reconstruction and overhaul of the different wings. They handpick the teams that are set to go in and do the work, and Tony promises to relocate all of them into the Stark Industries official employee pool once the job is done. Peter has an opportunity to go there to see how things are moving along, but the mere prospect nearly sends him flying into the stratosphere, so he chooses not to take it. But they comb through all the fired guards and everyone involved in the decisions to put them in Peter’s path, and the court cases pile up to the point where they need Pepper, Happy, Rhodey and Clint to keep on top of it with them, along with a ton of students preparing for the bar exam. Beck’s entire crew also gets arrested and charged, and William sings like a canary about a few of Norman’s hidden men that they hadn’t found out about yet. </p><p>Matt continues his own case, and though he continually fights off Tony’s offers of joining the team as the Avengers’ personal lawyer, he fights Peter’s battles, and plans to get him retribution in whatever manner possible. Peter doesn’t want money, but he knows he’s gonna get it, if things go Matt’s way. But Matt knows Peter cares more about fixing things, building a better system, and he’s clear that Peter’s intentions align with his own.</p><p>Peter really likes him, but he definitely thinks that he’s hiding something. Not anything sinister, he just doesn’t get that vibe. But it’s...something, something that’s kept Peter, Ned and MJ up nights speculating. </p><p>Norman Osborn broke his back in the fall. Tony has, begrudgingly, been making sure he’s had the best care, but the doctors report back that his rantings and ravings are only getting more insane, and he only refers to himself as <em>The Goblin</em>. Peter doesn’t ask for specifics, not since he found out that Norman wanted to experiment on him because of what happened with the spider bite, as a way to alter his own DNA and make himself stronger. Peter overhears Sam and Bucky reporting back about the dismantling of the never used, hidden lair in the Raft that was meant for him. It’s rare to hear Sam rattled about anything, even rarer for Bucky to shake in the face of danger, but both of them seem—disturbed.</p><p>And that’s when Peter doesn’t want to hear about it anymore.</p><p>He wants to remove himself as far away from that feeling as he can. So he focuses on their goals, makes sure the Raft becomes as free of corruption as possible, and he keeps tabs on Beck in the new facility they moved him to. He starts a mental health program there, with the funds Ross provided and resources from Tony, and Peter makes sure that Beck is attended to whether he wants to be or not.</p><p>Peter wants to try. </p><p>That's all he wants to do. He wants to overcome the hurt in his heart and he wants to make real changes, but he knows completely changing a system like this, the same system that nearly fucking destroyed him because it was so full of holes, is gonna take time. And Beck, Norman...he knows there’s no real speaking to them and what they might do. He knows there’s probably no saving them. But he has to—he has to try. He knows most people might think he’s wasting his time, he even thinks <em>Tony</em> might think that, but that’s because Tony is just so angry on his behalf. Tony would rip them apart if he could. So would May. So would MJ and Ned, probably. But Peter just—he’s angry, and he’s hurt, and he’s forever changed by the whole thing, but he doesn’t believe he’d ever be able to think that way. Especially about Beck, as stupid as that is. Peter knows their friendship wasn’t real, that it was all a goddamn game. </p><p>But still. But still.</p><p>So when Peter isn’t doing all that, or trying to figure out with Tony how to pare down some of his more invasive tech, he’s attempting to be Spider-Man again. Tony makes him a black suit that’s reminiscent of the Night Monkey, and Peter sticks low to the ground. He tries to keep people safe, he tries to prevent car crashes and muggings, but the second someone realizes it’s him, the second, the <em>second—</em></p><p>Things are different, now that people know who he is. That he’s Peter Parker, under the mask, and not some nameless, faceless do-gooder. And it isn’t like he got to make that decision, it isn’t like it was his choice and he curated it to his needs, no, his identity was forced out, along with a frame job, so now he’s paranoid of his every encounter. Do they trust him? Do they have hidden motives? Will they try to find May or MJ and hurt them? Even Ned?</p><p>He doesn’t know how the hell Tony handles it. Or anyone else whose identities are out in the open. Tony has been trying to help, trying to ease him into it with anecdotes about what he did in the beginning, and he’s been on top of keeping Peter’s address under wraps, has threatened every news anchor and paparazzi he can get a hold of and told them to stay away. Peter knows he’s got more in store to help him adjust to this new normal, but it’s still hard, nearly impossible, something rancid brimming inside him and threatening to spill over.</p><p>He doesn’t want to be afraid, when he’s out there. Not for himself or the people he loves. That shouldn’t be how it works. How the hell is he ever gonna do his job if that’s how it works, now?</p><p>“But you’re staying over at Tony’s apartment in the city, right?” MJ asks, in his ear. “Well. His apartment.” She scoffs. “His massive <em>floor</em> that he purchased in Manhattan that’s bigger than my house five times over.”</p><p>Peter sighs and shoots another web, cascading past a church steeple. “You know he gives back.”</p><p>“I know. I’m just playing with you. He bought all three of my daily meals for like a week there, when you still had the sling on. And he sent that guy out to fix my mom’s air conditioning and he didn’t charge us.”</p><p>“See?” Peter says, smiling a little bit, knowing what else Tony does behind the scenes to help people that most don’t even find out about. There’s a street fair beneath him with streamers between the buildings, and pulsing music that grazes his feet as he swings by. “And yeah, I’m going there. May’s already there, but I told her not to wait up. I don’t know if that means she actually <em>won’t</em>, but—”</p><p>“What! Don’t make her go to bed. Company is good.”</p><p>“Her being well-rested is better.”</p><p>MJ laughs at him as Peter turns east, and he can’t help but smile at how much he loves the sound. She clears her throat. “Okay, okay, everything’s still happening tomorrow, right? And it’s not a gift situation, right? Because I didn’t get you anything. But I can. Or I can make something.”</p><p>“No, it’s not my birthday,” Peter says, catching sight of Tony’s building. “Your presence is a present.”</p><p>“Cornball. Corntown. Cornville.”</p><p>Peter snorts and MJ laughs too. She laughs a lot more lately, then she did before they were dating. He really likes it. “Yes, it’s still happening. It’s not even really like a party, we’re just gonna all hang out and sit around and eat and just—relax, I guess, be happy about everything and our progress and whatever. Same time. Yes, Thor will be there, I know you wanna ask.”</p><p>She hums. “I have no idea what you’re talking about at all.”</p><p>“Ah-huh.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, stop harassing me Mr. Spider-Man. I don’t wanna distract you while you’re swinging.”</p><p>Peter loops around one of the taller trees and smiles to himself. He can’t say he’s not distracted by her, because that’s completely untrue. </p><p>“I’m, uh. Excited to see you, maybe.”</p><p>“I’m excited to see you, definitely,” Peter says, swinging up to the roof of Tony’s building. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow. Come early, be like, early.” So he can see her for longer. As much as he can. He never takes it for granted anymore, after what they’ve had to deal with immediately after getting together.</p><p>She laughs again. “Okay,” she says. “Goodnight.”</p><p>“Goodnight.”</p><p>She hangs up and Peter lands, heading for the roof access door. He takes the elevator to the penthouse floor, and voice scans himself into Tony’s place. It’s dark inside, save for the hall light that was surely left on for him, and Peter sees a bunch of Morgan’s toys tossed across the carpet in the living room. There’s a neat pile of them over by the TV, like someone was trying to clean things up, but eventually gave up the pursuit. He tip-toes in, finishes the job, and then he heads towards the second guest bedroom, which is directly across from where May is hopefully already asleep.</p><p>Pepper steps out into the hallway at the exact same time he steps into it, and both of them jump. </p><p>“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Peter whispers. “I know it’s late, I was trying to—I was trying to be quiet.”</p><p>“No, you’re fine,” she laughs, wiping at her eyes. “I was just coming out to look for Tony’s goddamn pain pills because I can’t find them anywhere.”</p><p>Peter’s heart jolts a bit. “Is he okay?” he asks.</p><p>“Yeah, nothing worse than usual,” Pepper says. </p><p>Tony tries to pretend that the whole thing, from initial coma wake-up to finally passing out in the van after the fight, didn’t hurt him, but Helen says different and so does pretty much everybody else. He put his body through hell, his mind too, and as much as he tries to pretend he’s fine and dandy, Peter is constantly afraid he’s going to backslide and drift from them again. But Pepper stays on top of it and keeps him in the loop, considering anything Tony reports back when it comes to his health is a complete lie. Peter guesses the honesty they promised back in the safehouse had a shelf life, but he figures Tony is just trying to keep Peter’s stress levels low. He has no idea why his stress levels are worse now than they were then, but nothing ever makes proper sense and he’s pretty much accepted that. </p><p>“He’s fine, honey,” Pepper says, stepping closer to him and nodding confidently. “Getting better every day and that’s not a lie. Even Helen said it.”</p><p>“Good,” Peter says, blowing out a breath.</p><p>“Everything alright with you?” Pepper asks, her brow furrowing. “May got here earlier, she’s fine, we had dinner. Crab Rangoon. Saved you some.”</p><p>“There’s my breakfast,” Peter says, grinning. He had a salmon shashlyk earlier, when that lady bought it for him, and even though that’s not much, he doesn’t feel hungry. Pepper shakes her head at him, but smiles back. He clears his throat and keeps talking. “Yeah, I’m okay. Nothing—nothing out of the ordinary happened.” Ordinary? What’s ordinary? He doesn’t know. He knows he doesn’t know. It’s just strange, how everyday phrases have different connotations depending on what direction his brain is leaning.</p><p>“Good,” she says, rubbing his shoulder as she moves past him. “It will get better, I promise. Maybe not exactly the same as it was before, but the same isn’t always...better. Now get some good sleep, okay? Tomorrow’s gonna be nice.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he says, smiling at her. “Thanks, uh—it will be.”</p><p>~</p><p>But really. The nightmares don’t stop.</p><p>Instead, they consume him. They maintain the same level of veracity they did in the beginning, and no amount of kisses from MJ can stop them. No amount of reassurances from Ned, no amount of hugs from May, no amount of hours in the lab with Tony. They grip with precision, as if they can burrow into the very heart of him and spring from his chest when he least expects them, tearing up his ribs, puncturing his lungs. Reminding him that he is a broken thing, wretched and left behind, and as much as he wants to believe that he’s not, the nightmares squeeze and squeeze until he’s gasping for breath, until there’s nothing but them. And if they’re the only thing he can see in the darkness, then what are they, other than the truth?</p><p>In that dark world he’s chained to the wall in solitary again, his arms stretched out above his head to the point of pain, the cuffs digging so tight into his skin that he loses all feeling in his wrists. His ankles are chained down too, and his knees, and he’s a wild animal they’ve had to tame, they’ve had to trap here because of how dangerous he is. He thrashes and snarls but he can barely move, and every time he tries the walls start to close in on him, so the room is smaller, stifling. He forgets how to speak, it’s been so long since he’s formed words, and no food is given so he starts to shrivel up, the cuffs conforming and tightening as he withers away. Confined to the end, with every rasping breath, and all he knows is darkness. He’s made for it. Everyone who ever loved him has forgotten he exists, and the sea outside the stone wall wails for him. Wails to swallow him up and fill his lungs, until it burns burns burns him into less than a memory.</p><p>But until then, Beck is with him.</p><p>Beck is the prisoner in the next box, locked up just like him. And Peter can’t see him but he can hear him laughing, can hear his chains rattling, like a woebegotten ghost here to strike fear into an already fearful heart.</p><p>“Just you and me now,” Beck taunts. “Just you and me. And when you’re done trying, when you’re completely finished fighting, he’ll come get you. And then you’ll be alive again, Peter! Because pain brings you alive. And oh, you’ll be in so much pain.”</p><p>Beck laughs and rattles his chains more, wildly, like he’s stuck in a tornado, and Peter twists his hands into fists, or he means to but he isn’t sure if he actually is because he can’t feel his hands anymore, he can’t feel anything anymore, he’s rotting and he’s half-corpse and flies buzz around him, maggots eating away at his flesh and he can’t move, he can’t move—</p><p>—and he hears footsteps—</p><p>he hears more laughter, laughter than isn’t Beck’s, laughter that possesses the walls and what’s left of Peter’s soul—</p><p>and Norman’s coming—</p><p>the Goblin is coming—</p><p>“Hey, hey, hey,” Tony’s voice says, from somewhere else. “Hey, wake up. Wake up, Pete. It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re having a nightmare.”</p><p>Peter’s eyes snap open, and then he shoots up, winding his arms around his middle. He’s nearly hyperventilating and Tony wraps his arm around his shoulders, leaning down to look at him.</p><p>“Breathe,” Tony says, gently. “In through your nose and out through your mouth. You’re okay. Breathe, bud, I’ve got you. You’re safe, you’re safe.”</p><p>Peter breathes, like he says. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Once and twice and then again. He blinks it away, the nightmare, he blinks and he blinks until he doesn’t see it on the back of his eyelids anymore. Until he doesn’t hear it echoing in his ears. </p><p>“God,” he breathes, when he can speak again. “God.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Tony says, squeezing his shoulder and rubbing his arm, tugging him against him. “You’re okay.”</p><p>Peter glances at the clock and sees that it’s far past noon, and he shakes his head, still breathing methodically. </p><p>“May peeked in at about eleven,” Tony says, “and you were dead asleep. She kissed your face about sixteen times and you still didn’t wake up. So she decided to let you sleep as long as you needed it. She and Pepper are out picking up the platters for later, with Momo. Rhodey’s on his way right now and Happy’s gonna pick up the terrible twosome in about an hour.”</p><p>Peter nods, his face still burning.</p><p>“You okay?” Tony says, and he’s asking now, gently, instead of reassuring. “Nothing happened last night, right? When you went patrolling? I didn’t see any alerts before I went to bed, not that I was like, stalking you or anything—”</p><p>“No, it was fine,” Peter says. “Good, even. I was—it was better than it has been. Nice people, not a—lot of dickheads, no, it wasn’t, uh. Anything that happened last night.”</p><p>“Alright,” Tony says, still gentle, not pushing.</p><p>Peter looks up at him. “I just—I feel so stupid. And I know you’re gonna say I’m not and everyone would say I’m not, and things are going well and I completely got off on all the charges when that totally could have been more difficult, considering, and Matt is gonna sue everybody into the ground and we’re—doing what I wanted to do with the Raft and it’s actually succeeding and going well, but I just. I just, I—”</p><p>“You still go back there,” Tony says, holding onto him. “In your head.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, tears prickling in his eyes as soon as Tony says it. It makes him feel vulnerable and above all, <em>stupid.</em> “And like. I know what you’re thinking.”</p><p>“Oh, do you?”</p><p>Peter scoffs. “I know you’re gonna compare it to your captivity.”</p><p>Tony tilts his head. “Well, I mean—”</p><p>“They had you for three months, Tony,” Peter says, looking at him. “And they only had me for like four or five days, whatever it was.” He hates that time still eludes him. And he knows Tony knows exactly how many days it was, how many hours and minutes, but Peter doesn’t want to ask. He almost doesn’t want to know. He knows and he doesn’t. He wants it all gone, either way.</p><p>“Kid,” Tony says, definitively. “Listen. I want you to listen to me, and really listen, and not the kind of listening you and I do when we’re intending on focusing on our own feelings and not what somebody is about to tell us.”</p><p>Peter looks at him, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Listening?”</p><p>“Listening.”</p><p>“For real? Don’t let those eyes glaze over.”</p><p>Peter scoffs and he can’t help but smile. “I am completely tuned in.”</p><p>“This was different,” Tony says. “This was different than that. They did not take me with the express intention of torturing me. Yeah, there was a dash of torture, in the beginning, and the whole thing was hell on earth, but it also—it <em>built</em> me. It changed me. I met someone there that I hold in my heart even today, and it opened my eyes and just—yeah, it was a long time, and yeah, it was a bad experience, but it wasn’t—if it hadn’t happened, my life would be worse. Let’s say that. I allowed a lot of terrible things to happen, before that. I actively participated in a lot of terrible things in the name of legacy. I’d built up my own walls so high that I just couldn’t see what I was doing, what I’d become, who I was hurting. I came out of that better. And it led me to Pepper, it led me to the team, it led me to you. Otherwise, I’d just—still be floating out there on asshole island.”</p><p>Peter snorts and looks away, cracking his jaw.</p><p>“What happened to you was—it doesn’t matter, the length of time, the amount of days. It matters how it affected you. I refuse to allow you to deny yourself your own feelings. That’s just not gonna fly. Not with me, not with May, not with anybody. You went through hell. With me, they wanted to use me, make me build shit for them, Obie’s whole deal, whatever—but with you—they wanted to break you. Tear you up, use you for your physical body, your DNA, and not for what you could do or make. Norman created a goddamn house of horrors and even <em>knowing</em> about that is enough to give you nightmares, along with what you went through.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says, trying not to think too hard. His heart is still beating too fast.</p><p>“And look what you’re doing with it,” Tony says. “You’re just—you’re not thinking about yourself. You’re thinking about fixing things for the future, for people who are in there now, people who do not deserve your kindness. You’re helping Beck, a dickhead of the highest order. You’re putting yourself last, as always, because you’re just—the most genuine person in the entire universe, I guess.”</p><p>More tears. Peter breathes in and out, deep, a couple more times. He looks at Tony again. “How do I get it to stop?” he asks. “The nightmares? Because they’re—they’re hard, Tony, it feels like they’re latching onto me and dragging me down and just—becoming real. Like they’re a real place inside my head and if I get too messed up, I’ll stick there. I’ll get stuck and you guys won’t be able to wake me up.”</p><p>Tony stares at him, and it looks like there’s a lot working behind his eyes. “You have to remind yourself what’s out here for you,” he says. “You have to find a way to tell yourself, in the nightmare, that it isn’t real and there’s a real life that’s so much brighter than all that, one where you really belong. A real life where you’re safe, where all that shit is just smoke and mirrors. It’s hard, kid, I won’t say it’s not. But there are ways and we can figure them out. We can figure them out together. I used to have nightmares every night back in the day, shit, and a big part of ending them is just—time. Yeah, actively working against them does wonders, but—time, spreading between you and the moment in question, that’s gonna beat it. That’s gonna deal the final blow. Not the best news, but it’s a promise that—you won’t always live with this.”</p><p>Peter nods at him. Time. He’s gotta try to master it again. Get a hold of it, take it back.</p><p>“You can’t deny your own trauma, kid,” Tony says, the sun coming through the window and settling across his face. “That’s half the battle, accepting that it happened and it affected you how it affected you. Saying it shouldn’t have or that you’re being stupid will only make it linger more. And you’re also wrong and being mean to yourself, and that’s not allowed.”</p><p>“I just hate it,” Peter says, wiping at his eyes. “There are so many moving pieces to this and it’s hard to, like, put them back together. I don’t even know if some of them fit anymore.”</p><p>“They don’t have to,” Tony says. “You can find new pieces that do fit. And you’ve got a whole ton of people to help you put this puzzle together. And don’t say you don’t wanna bother us, because you’re never a bother. Not once, not ever, no matter how many times Happy moans and groans.”</p><p>Peter smiles and feels a little more lighthearted, finally. “Thank you,” he says. “For this and—”</p><p>“No more thanking for the other stuff, you did that already,” Tony says, smiling back at him. He pulls him into a hug and Peter hugs him back, turning his face into Tony’s shoulder and letting out a sigh. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat, Pete. All of it.”</p><p>“I know you would,” Peter laughs. “Big damn hero.”</p><p>“Damn <em>right</em>,” Tony says. </p><p>He holds Peter tight for a second, and it’s almost like he’s trying to hug him for all the people that can’t. The people out there that feel remorse for turning on him. The people that stood by his side. The people that aren’t here anymore, whose love still clings to the earth where they once stood. His parents. Ben. Tony never met any of them, but Peter knows he’s looked into them, that he’s seen pictures and heard stories. Peter isn’t exactly sure what’s in his head right now, but it feels like he’s thinking about them. It feels like he’s showing them, wherever they are—<em>I’ve got him. I promise I’ve got him. Him and May, they’re—they’re gonna be okay.</em></p><p>They pull back and Tony grips Peter’s shoulder. “We’re gonna work on this, alright? Getting you to the point where sleep doesn’t bring on all that horrific shit. Okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, nodding. “Good.”</p><p>“And today we’re gonna fill this penthouse with superheroes, your girlfriend’s sassy remarks and Ned’s stammering when he gets too close to them.”</p><p>Peter snorts. “Listen, they’re—no, yeah, you’re right, that’s them.”</p><p>“<em>And</em>—surprise. We’re gonna start that Star Wars movie marathon.” </p><p>Peter stares, blinking. “Huh?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says, shrugging, but looking proud of himself. “We’re gonna do all of them.”</p><p>Peter’s jaw nearly detaches.</p><p>“<em>All of them?</em>”</p><p>The expression on Tony’s face reads <em>no big deal</em>, even though it’s definitely a big deal. </p><p>“Tony, that’s gonna take days. That’s not a thing that can be done in one night. I hope you know this.”</p><p>Tony waves him off. “I know, I’m not a moron, I know how to count.” He’s got a huge grin on his face, and Peter can’t stop himself from smiling back. “Everybody’s just gonna bunk here. Big sleepover. For days. Totally fine and completely normal. You’ll get to spend time with Steve and Nat like you wanted to, and all the others. We’ve got the room and half of them are used to piling on top of each other at night, anyway. Thor’s a big puppy pile guy.”</p><p>“Oh my God.”</p><p>“We’ve got plenty of bedrooms, everybody’s agreed, sick days have been taken—I had to talk to May’s boss but it’s all sorted out. Morgan’s just about gonna lose her mind with excitement. She’s even got a little BB-8 costume, so, prepare for cuteness.”</p><p>Peter grins so hard his face hurts. </p><p>“It’s gonna be great,” Tony says. “Exactly what we planned for, but better.” Then his face changes, into something more sentimental, and he smiles softly. “We’re there, kid. We made it. We made it to the other side of all that bullshit. Just like we said.”</p><p>Peter knows it’s not over. He knows there’s plenty to do still, and a lot of it he’ll be dedicating time to for the rest of his life. But the healing has started, and the running has stopped. He’s home. He’s really back home. </p><p>“Yeah,” he says, beaming at Tony, looking forward to everything he has ahead of him. “We made it.”</p>
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